


Standing Outside the Fire

by PanBoleyn



Category: Tudors
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, Family, M/M, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-10-17
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 134,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanBoleyn/pseuds/PanBoleyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The greatest rivals sometimes make the greatest allies. When two English families united in 1515, no one could know that it would change the fate of England - forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to the Family

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't think you can own long-dead historical figures… I don't own the show either, Michael Hirst and Co. does.

Disclaimer: I don't think you can own long-dead historical figures… I don't own the show either, Michael Hirst and Co. does.

 _ **Chapter 1 – Welcome to the Family:**_ The three children were all but alone in the carriage, but that didn't bother the young Seymours. Their nurse, Mrs. Sotheby, should have been here as well, but she had requested some time to visit her ill sister, so she would arrive at their new home in a few days.

The new home in question was Wiltshire House, the family home of their mother's new husband, Thomas Boleyn, Marquess of Wiltshire. The wedding had been held at court, so the children had not even heard about it until it was done, and almost immediately after, their bags had been packed for the short journey from Wolf Hall to Wiltshire House.

The oldest of them, Edward, hadn't been surprised; it made sense that their mother would marry again. A woman alone was at the mercy of the world, or so he'd heard people whisper after his father's funeral, and even though Edward had become head of the family as soon as his father had died, he was too young to help her when she needed it.

"Thomas, stop it," he said irritably, seeing that his brother was sticking his head out of the window like an idiot. Their adult companion, one of their mother's maids, was sound asleep against the wall of the carriage, so it fell to Edward to make sure his younger brother didn't tumble out of the window, or something. Thomas sat down, glaring at his older brother.

"Why should I listen to you?" the younger boy grumbled.

"Because you're acting like an idiot?"

"Please stop," Jane said in a quiet voice. Both boys glanced at their sister, who was watching them with wide blue-gray eyes. She hated when her brothers fought, and it was even worse now. They were going somewhere new, and their new stepfather had three children of his own. What if they were mean, or fought all the time like Ned and Tom did?

Thomas rolled his eyes, but kept quiet. They didn't need Jane to start crying or something, that was just annoying. Edward glared at his brother again but said nothing more. Jane relaxed a little, but not much. Being alone in a small space with her brothers was never relaxing. She wished they could just get along.

Turning her head, she looked out of the other window, clutching her favorite doll to her chest. The message from their mother had said that one of their new sisters was her age. She wasn't sure if the thought delighted or terrified her. Thomas didn't like playing with her, and Edward didn't play at all, so Jane was always left alone. But she was quiet, she wasn't used to people, so maybe her new sister wouldn't even like her.

* * *

Several miles away, three more children were in the nursery of Wiltshire House, and the youngest of them kept running over to the window. "Lady Anne, sit down," the children's governess, Mrs. Lovell, said sternly. The child had been overexcited by the prospect of three new siblings, especially a sister her own age, since the message from Lord Wiltshire had arrived a week ago. It was, in some ways, a good thing, especially with Lady Mary's indifference and Lord George's sulks over the news, but the child was enough of a handful already.

Anne walked back to her chair and picked up the embroidery she was supposed to be working on, not bothered by her governess' sharp tone. She knew Mrs. Lovell didn't really mean it, she was just doing her job. Besides, if she really got angry, Anne was sure she could get her to calm down. She usually could.

It was just so hard to sit still! She loved her brother and sister, and she never let them keep her out of games because she was too little, but George was eight and Mary was ten – Mary was almost _old_. Now she would have a sister who was her age, and two more brothers too. Anne thought this was the best news she'd ever heard, including having a new stepmother. She'd met her father's new wife and she was very nice, but Anne didn't have much time for adults. They were usually doing things that were very important to them, and they didn't have time to play. So they were boring.

Mary rolled her eyes at the younger Boleyn girl, who was practically bouncing in her seat. For her part, Mary didn't see what there was to be so giddy about. Two more boys and another sister who was practically a baby. Maybe if the older boy was a girl, she'd be happier; it would mean someone else who was too old for the nursery but stuck there anyway. But as it was… She slouched in her seat as she sighed, earning a quiet reprimand from Mrs. Lovell. Straightening her spine, Mary didn't bother to wipe the sulky look off of her face as her needle stabbed through the pillow she was embroidering.

But it was George who was truly upset by the coming arrivals. He didn't care about the sister – maybe she'd keep Anne busy. He could have more fun without a little girl tagging along. But the other two were boys, and one of them was older than he was! He hated that thought. What if they were better than he was? It was hard enough to get his father's attention as it was; he was always so busy. With two other boys to compete with, how could he manage it? It wasn't fair!

So when their stepmother came into the nursery with her children in tow, the three Boleyns stood to greet her and their new siblings in very different frames of mind. Margery Seymour smiled at the children who had become hers with this marriage, uncertain. It was a bit uncomfortable dealing with these young aristocrats, or at least with Mary and George. Mary was sulky, caught in that uncomfortable place between childhood and young womanhood, and her uncertainty showed itself in a sullen attitude. George was very well aware of his rank as an earl and future marquess, and he could be quite arrogant. Anne, thankfully, was too young for her upbringing to have had an effect on her attitude, so she was still a bright, sunny child.

And her children… With Thomas, she supposed her fears were normal. He was a typical seven-year-old boy, ready to dare anything, and she was terrified he'd kill himself one of these days. But Edward and Jane were different. Edward was much too serious for a boy his age, and she wondered if it was her fault, because she'd told him he was the head of the family with his father dead, he had to watch out for his younger siblings. She'd meant it well, but it might have been taken too seriously. And Jane was so quiet, almost afraid to talk. Margery herself had been a cheerful, outgoing child, much like her younger stepdaughter, so Jane's demeanor was a mystery to her. She didn't know how to handle her.

What worried Margery the most was how the children would get along. She hoped Anne might be good for Jane; they were of an age, so there was a chance they'd become friends. Mary wasn't going to be much trouble; to her the young Seymours would just be more children to ignore for most of the day. The trouble would be with the boys. She wasn't sure who would start the conflict, but she knew there would be a clash. Edward and Thomas squabbled almost constantly as it was, and she suspected George was less than thrilled to have gained a pair of brothers. But there was nothing she could do; she wouldn't even be here. Her husband had said that they would both be returning to court after a short visit to Wiltshire House to get everyone acquainted, and then he'd even sent her ahead while he finished things up.

She didn't like court, she would have much preferred to be at home with the children, but she had married a high-ranking, ambitious man, and she had expected this to be the price of security. He wasn't a cruel man, just distant, and she knew herself to be very lucky. Things could have been a lot worse. She just wished she could be here to smooth everything along, instead of having to trust the staff to do so.

All she could do, though, was meet her children when they arrived, answer their questions as best she could, and then lead them into the nursery where the three young Boleyns waited. Margery looked between her children and her stepchildren, seeing the way they watched each other. George was scowling, his gaze shifting between Edward and Thomas. Mary simply looked disinterested, an expression Edward shared. Anne was smiling brightly at Jane, who, subdued by the unfamiliar grandeur of the house, didn't seem to know how to react. Thomas wasn't looking at any of the others; his eyes were darting around the room.

"George, Mary, Anne, these are my children, Edward, Thomas, and Jane Seymour," she said, gesturing to each child as she said their names. Then to her three she said, "This is George, Mary, and Anne Boleyn," repeating the gestures. All six nodded, but she wasn't sure she trusted their calm behavior. Still, she saw the way the governess was looking at her, like someone encroaching on another's territory, and decided it would be best to leave the children to it. If nothing else, freed from parental supervision they would be free to act as they wished, and they needed to get to know each other so that was crucial.

* * *

The second Margery left, George jerked up his chin defiantly. "I'm the Earl of Ormonde," he said pompously, "and my sisters are Lady Mary and Lady Anne." Mary rolled her eyes at her brother's words before returning to her embroidery. Anne glared at George.

"Don't be so mean!" she told him as sternly as a five-year-old could. George ignored her, flatly pointing out which things in the playroom were his and forbidding any of the new arrivals to touch them. Even though he wasn't really speaking to her, Jane flinched back, more than a little scared of this boy who was being so nasty to her brothers.

Thomas scowled. "I don't need to play with your toys, I have my own." With that, he stormed off, dumping out the small bag he'd carried with him, revealing wooden soldiers that he proceeded to set up. Edward, meanwhile, gave George a steady look before letting his eyes travel round the room.

"That door, it leads to the schoolroom?"

"Yes," George said grudgingly, more than a bit confused.

"And the books in there aren't yours, are they?"

"No."

"Well, no trouble then," the older boy said unconcernedly before crossing to the door and slipping inside the schoolroom, presumably to find a book. George glared after him, but then returned to his own toys, deciding he'd just ignore these new brothers. Maybe they wouldn't go away, but it was all he could do.

Anne glared at George again – why did he have to be so mean? – before smiling again at Jane. Looking at the other girl's doll, which Jane still clung tightly to, Anne asked, "What's her name?"

"Ellie," Jane answered, her voice almost a whisper.

"She's pretty," Anne said, taking her new sister's hand and towing her to where she'd set up her three dolls this morning. "Can she join the party?" she asked Jane.

Jane smiled and nodded. "She'd like that." So Ellie joined the doll party, and two little girls became friends. It was much easier than Jane had thought, but Anne was so nice. Her brother was scary, and her older sister didn't seem to like them, but at least Anne was different.

Maybe things would be all right after all.


	2. Settling In

The first few weeks were largely uneventful. A week after the Seymour children had arrived, Thomas Boleyn finally finished the work he'd been doing at court, and came to Wiltshire House himself. He'd met his new stepchildren briefly and spent a little time with his own three before going back to court, Margery in tow. She wasn't entirely happy about it – she could see the growing tensions among the boys – but she knew there was no point to arguing. She had known she was marrying a courtier, not a country noble. With luck, she would be allowed to visit soon. 

Meanwhile, she spoke to Mrs. Sotheby, who had arrived three days after her charges, and Mrs. Lovell, asking them both to keep her informed. She did not speak to Mr. Jenner, the tutor, but Mrs. Lovell assured her that he would watch the boys as well; he was a relative of hers, apparently, and she knew him well enough to promise it. 

As the new marchioness left, Mrs. Lovell turned to Mrs. Sotheby. “I'm in charge here, so don't go trying to take over.” Joan Lovell had been with the family since Lady Mary's birth; she wasn't about to let this ginger-haired interloper take her place.

Amelia Sotheby had expected this, and honestly, she didn't care about stealing the other woman's place. She was more worried about protecting her own little ones. Because the Seymour children felt like they were hers; she'd been the one to comfort them after their father and then their little brother had died, because their mother had been left to run the household alone. “Of course not, Joan, I wouldn't even consider it.” 

“Hmph.” 

It was an uneasy truce, one Amelia had no plans to upset. They were going to have enough trouble as it was – she'd seen the arrogant young lord's behavior toward her boys already, and that wouldn't end well. Tom had told her about the “Earl of Ormonde” introduction and the young lord's possessiveness.

Lord George seemed particularly angry about Edward, and Amelia knew that eventually Edward would fight back. It would take a lot, but it would happen. And she wasn't about to let one of her charges take all the blame for it, something she suspected Joan Lovell would be quite willing to do. After all, can't blame the young lord...

She didn't know that, of course. For all she knew, Joan and her cousin Matthew Jenner would be scrupulously fair about disciplining the children, but she was prepared for the worst. The Seymour children were her responsibility and had been since she was first hired, when there was only Edward to worry about. If there was going to be trouble, she was going to stop it.

~ ~ ~ 

Matthew Jenner had been a top student at Cambridge, but academia did not earn one much money, and he wasn't the type to relish poverty. He knew some who were too arrogant to take any sort of job that was 'beneath' them, but he wasn't that proud. So when his cousin had suggested to him that he try to become the tutor to her noble charges, he'd jumped at the chance. Thomas Boleyn hadn't seemed impressed by his credentials, but the marquess had been satisfied, clearly, since Matthew had gotten the job. So for the past three years, he'd taught the older two Boleyn children. 

Mary was all but a lost cause. The girl clearly had no interest in her lessons, and though he couldn't say she neglected her work, her disdain for it showed. She was a sweet girl, though in a sulky stage, and he was sure she would make a good noble wife, but no scholar. George was not entirely dissimilar. He worked harder, probably because he wanted to impress his father, but he didn't seem to enjoy it. But they were both reasonably pleasant children, and soon Anne would join them in the schoolroom. From what Joan had said, she might well turn out to be the family scholar.

Of course, now there were three more children in the household, and Edward and Thomas Seymour would be joining the lessons immediately. Little Jane was, like Anne, still entrusted wholly to the women. He didn't know the Seymour boys' tutor, though Amelia Sotheby had said he was an Oxford man. It was probably the old rivalry making him biased, but he didn't think much of the tiny bit Amelia had told him. This other tutor sounded like a lazy man just in it for the money. Not that Matthew wasn't doing this to be paid, but to his own surprise he'd found he enjoyed teaching. He just didn't want to have to deal with a pair of dunderheads. 

He was running a little late that morning, and so could hear the conversation going on in the schoolroom as he approached the door. George's voice, treble and clear, rang out with his best Latin. Matthew had to smile at his charge's talent with the language. It was the one area of study George seemed to enjoy most – well, he loved history as well, at least when they were talking about famous battles. 

Still, George's tone, and the words he spoke, were less than proper. He was very coolly insulting his new stepbrothers, closing with a comment that they couldn't even understand him, because surely they were too stupid to. Matthew couldn't allow that sort of thing to go on, and he was just about to interrupt when a second voice spoke, also in clear Latin. It sounded like the older boy, Edward, telling George calmly that in fact he could understand, and he didn't appreciate the assumption that he couldn't. 

Matthew knew the best thing to do might be to leave the boys to it – if they had it out now they'd get it over with. That would be best for all concerned. But he couldn't very well risk a brawl breaking out in his schoolroom, so he pushed the door open. The scene he walked into was more or less what he'd have predicted. George and Edward were eyeing each other as though waiting for a blow to fall, Mary was sitting with her chin propped on her hand, looking utterly bored. Thomas was frowning, apparently not as well versed in Latin as his brother and so knowing something had happened but not what.

“All right, everyone, settle down,” he said sternly. The boys quickly turned away from each other, facing him. Mary smiled, obviously relieved that the lessons were to begin so that the boys would have to stop their squabbling. Matthew started the lesson immediately, not giving the children a chance to start up again. 

At the end of the day, he went in search of Joan – and found her toe-to-toe with Amelia. “Oh, not you two as well,” he said tiredly. “I've spent the whole damn day trying to keep Lord George and Master Edward apart, not to mention keeping Master Thomas from getting involved, now you two are at each other's throats?”

“What's the Seymour boy done?” Joan said sharply.

“I'm sure it's your precious little lord behind it,” Amelia snapped. 

“Actually, she's mostly right, Joan,” Matthew cut in firmly. “It's the younger of the Seymour brothers who's causing trouble, and he doesn't have the chance for much. Lord George keeps needling the older one, and he's ignoring it for now.”

“That won't last if it keeps up,” Amelia said ruefully. 

“I don't see why Lord George would do that, unless he has some reason. He's a good boy,” Joan insisted. “Master Edward clearly hasn't been raised right.”

“He's an arrogant boy,” Amelia disagreed. “Perhaps he has not been raised well.” Matthew glared at them both. 

“They're both just boys,” he said irritably. “Boys who are now in each other's... territory, so to speak. They don't know how to handle it. So, our job is to make sure they don't end up hurting each other over it. I was a boy, I know how these things go. We don't need them scuffling when my lord Wiltshire is here, so this has to be settled before then.”

“And how do we do that?” Joan wanted to know.

“Let them go for now, in hopes they'll settle it themselves. It'll probably work better than if we interfere.”

~ ~ ~

Wiltshire House was huge, so much bigger than Wolf Hall, but it didn't scare Jane quite as much as it had when she'd first arrived. Anne wanted to show her everything, all the little places – “We can hide from Mrs. Lovell and – oh, what's your nurse's name? Anyway, there's a really good place on the third floor and Mrs. Lovell never looks there!” Jane loved it. She'd never been the sort to hide from her nurse before, but Anne was giggling when she told her about it. And it sounded like so much fun.

Anne was hard to keep up with, though. She had so much more energy than Jane, who up till now had spent most of her time playing quietly with her dolls or else learning to embroider. She liked embroidery, though she didn't really like following the patterns. She wanted to hurry up and get really good at it so she could make her own pictures. She was sure they'd be much prettier. Still, just because spending her time with Anne was different didn't mean it wasn't good. She'd never been able to play with Ned or Tom, not really. Ned didn't play much, and Tom went too fast and bossed her around. And little Anthony had gone away when he was just a baby, just after Papa had gone too. 

But now there was Anne, who took her by the hand and tugged her insistently along. For the first time, she wasn't being left behind, someone was taking her with them. She didn't have to try and keep up; she wouldn't be allowed to fall back.

As for Anne, she was still very excited about having a playmate. Jane was shy, but she would fix that. Even with that very inconvenient shyness, she thought she and Jane could be great friends. It was working out well so far, wasn't it? 

George had always been grumpy when she insisted on playing with him, though she'd proved she could keep up. She could even climb trees, not as fast as he could, but she could still climb them. Of course, Mrs. Lovell always made strange faces when she caught Anne in a tree, which was funny even though that those faces meant she was going to get punished. All that meant was that she had to sit in her room with no toys for a while, or spend an extra hour with her horn book.

But now she had Jane, and Mrs. Lovell couldn't get mad at her for having to show her new sister everything, could she? After all, Jane was going to live here, it was important for her to know all about their home. It made perfect sense to Anne as she guided her new sister all over the house and as much of the grounds as she could manage. 

~ ~ ~

Edward picked up a smooth, round stone, looking it over carefully. Satisfied with his choice, he let it fly, watching it skip over the water. Five skips. Not bad, a personal best, but he could rememeber his father getting nine. He wanted to manage ten.

John Seymour had taught this simple game to his sons just as he'd taught them to ride or the basics of tracking. Tom hadn't liked it as much – he preferred to fling stones as hard as he could and see how loud of a splash he could make. But Edward saw it as a challenge, like most things, and he relished it. 

He'd picked up another stone and was getting ready to try again when he felt himself being shoved forward. He hit the water hard, not even getting a chance to hold his breath. Luckily, the water was shallow, so he surfaced almost immediately, coughing hard enough that it took a few minutes to catch his breath properly. When he did, he looked around for whoever had pushed him, shoving sopping-wet hair out of his eyes. It didn't take long for him to spot George, who was running back toward the manor.

Edward's eyes narrowed. He'd dealt with the nasty side comments, with the kicks under the table, little things that didn't mean much. He'd faced worse from Tom. But he was really, really getting tired of this.

George was just entering the courtyard when he felt something slam into him, knocking him off his feet. Rolling over and jumping back up, he realized it was Edward, who was coming at him again. 

It wasn't really more than a scuffle, one which ended up with both of them rolling on the ground, trying to land a punch or a kick. Neither of them could see even each other that well, which was why they never noticed Thomas, or how gleefully he ran off to tell their tutor what was happening.

Matthew arrived quickly, finding the two boys still at it. With a sigh, he pulled them apart, holding each by the scruff of the neck. “Right. So, what happened here?”

George scowled. “He jumped on me for no reason,” he complained, pointing at Edward. Matthew managed not to show it, but somehow he found that very unlikely. 

“Edward, is that true?” The look in the boy's eyes was more resigned than anything else, as though he expected to be blamed either way. What had Amelia been warning them about? Or maybe it was Joan, who thought her charges could do no wrong. Pushing the thoughts away, he waited for an answer.

Edward shrugged. “If George says so.” 

Matthew narrowed his eyes. He'd all but expected that, but... “And why are you soaked?”

The boy hesitated, and Matthew could almost hear him thinking. “I tripped, fell in the duckpond.”

If it wasn't for the too-long pause and the evident shock that crossed George's face, the lie would have been convincing. As it was, it took Matthew only a moment to guess what the more likely story was. George had probably shoved Edward in the duckpond, and Edward had finally retaliated by starting a fight with the younger boy. It was about time they had it out; maybe they'd settle down now. Still, for the moment, his duty was to discourage this sort of thing; the boys fighting in front of Lord Wiltshire would be... inconvenient, to put it mildly. 

~ ~ ~

“And I'm not allowed to fence or ride for a whole week! Mr. Jenner is making me read more, and the books are boring ones,” George complained. Mary eyed him without sympathy. For a moment she wondered what punishment Edward had been given, and hoped it was just as unpleasant, because if it wasn't George would really get annoying. 

“Well, it's your own fault,” she informed him tartly. “What possessed you to shove Edward in the pond in the first place?

George shrugged. “I want him to go away,” he said sullenly. “I don't want an older brother, Father might like him better.” 

Mary frowned. All this time she'd thought George was just being whiny, but apparently not. “George, that won't happen.”

“How do you know? Anne's his favorite anyway, so he already doesn't like me best. It could happen.”

“It won't,” Mary told him. “You're Father's only son, he's not going to prefer a stepson to you. You really don't need to worry about that.” She ruffled her little brother's hair. “You're looking at this all wrong, George.”

“How should I look at it?”

“Think about Anne. She and Jane run round this place as if they've known each other forever. She's taking advantage of having a new sister who's her own age. You've always complained about having to play alone; but you've got two boys to play with now. If you can be nice.”

George opened his mouth to protest, then paused. He stared at Mary for a long moment and then said, “I didn't think of that.”

“Well, little brother, maybe you should,” she told him with a grin. “Anne's got a playmate now; if you can be nicer you might end up with two. It can't hurt, can it?”

~ ~ ~

It had been a sop to Mary's sulkiness, really, that since she was the only one not getting a potential playmate out of her father's new marriage, she should finally have the chance to have her own bedchamber again. She'd shared with Anne since her younger sister was two, but now it was Jane in the bed to Anne's right. Neither girl minded, though Jane had slept alone in her small chamber at Wolf Hall.   
It meant they could stay up talking, telling stories about the time George hid in the attic and came down all covered in dust or when Tom climbed a tree to get away from Mrs. Sotheby. Sometimes they stayed up and played games, pretending to be ladies from fairy tales, like Snowdrop and Rose Red. Jane liked that story best because Anne was so obviously Rose Red, so she could be Snowdrop. Besides, it was nice to imagine growing up to marry princes, though that would never happen. Though the thought of opening up the door to find a bear outside, like in the story, was scary.

They were actually falling asleep when Anne's whisper came out of the darkness. “Jane?” 

“What?” 

“Do you like it here?” 

Jane was silent for a moment. Wiltshire House was still much grander than anything she'd ever known, and it made her feel very small if she ever stopped to think about it. George made her nervous because he didn't like her brothers, especially Edward. And Edward was her bigger brother, if George could be nasty to him when he was younger than Edward was, what would he do to Jane if she ever made him angry? Mary wasn't mean, but she always stayed away from all of them, she was so much older that she scared Jane a little just because of that. And her stepfather had unfriendly eyes. Jane could only just remember her Papa, but he had warm dark eyes. It made her sad to remember he was gone, especially when Mama's new husband was so different.

But Anne was here too. And as much as Jane loved her brothers, as much as she laughed at Tom's jokes or looked up to Edward, neither of them had much time for her. Edward had taught her to read, but once she could he'd left her alone again, and Tom complained that she was too little to play with. This was the first time she'd ever had anyone to play with, and she liked it. She liked it a lot.

“I really do like it here,” she whispered back. And she meant it.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, George approached Edward in the schoolroom. “Edward?” 

“Yes, George?” The other boy was calm, as he usually was, and it was really annoying, but George ignored that. 

“We started off badly. That's my fault and I'm sorry. D'you think we could call a truce? You as well, Tom, I've not been nice to you either,” George added, looking at the younger Seymour, who was watching with interest. He was also the first to respond, with a shrug. 

“Sure, why not?” Tom said carelessly. 

Edward said nothing at first, looking at George carefully. Then he nodded. “All right then,” he said evenly. “Truce.” 

“Good,” George said, and then Mr. Jenner came in, and there was no more chance to talk.


	3. Family Dynamics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Twenty-year-old college student here, it's really not mine.

Disclaimer: Twenty-year-old college student here, it's really not mine.

 _ **Chapter 3 – Family Dynamics:**_ Three years had passed since Thomas Boleyn had married Margery Seymour, and in that time, a lot of things had changed. Mary was now betrothed to Henry Percy, the eldest son of the Earl of Northumberland, and was to marry him after her fifteenth birthday. When the betrothal was finalized, Mary's sulkiness began to fade, because at least now she knew what was coming. Being betrothed also had an effect on how the staff treated her; it made them see her as more than just another one of the children.

George and Thomas had found common ground in their love of pranking and risk-taking, much to Edward's chagrin. He spent most of his time either in the library or out riding, partly to avoid the younger boys' antics and partly because he just preferred those activities to anything else. He'd always been a bit of a loner, and since he had so little in common with the other boys, that tendency had become more pronounced.

Of course, while George and Thomas left him to it, there were two other children in the household, and they did not. Anne and Jane's bond had only grown, and Anne had decided it was up to the two of them to make sure Edward didn't end up avoiding human contact altogether. So it wasn't much of a surprise when the girls came into the library, but their expressions were a sign something was up. Anne was grinning widely, and Jane just looked stunned.

"The King's coming!" Anne announced without preamble. Then, belatedly, she looked at the book in Edward's hands. "What are you reading?" The girls had joined Mr. Jenner's lessons two years ago, and Anne loved it. Jane liked it too, though she didn't have the same level of enthusiasm.

"It's about the reign of Edward III, but never mind that. What's this about the King?"

"It's the progress, Ned," Anne explained, rolling her eyes. "They need places to stay, and this year they're coming here."

"Must you call me that?" the boy asked, setting aside his book and scowling at the dark-haired girl.

"Of course she must," Jane cut in. "You keep complaining about it." Edward rolled his eyes.

"Yes, because that makes _perfect_ sense," he muttered. "Anyway, do you know when the King is supposed to arrive?"

"Um..." Anne said, realizing she'd been so excited at the idea of the King coming to visit that she'd forgotten when he was coming.

"The middle of next month," Jane supplied helpfully. "There's not a date, but they should be coming some time around then."

"Mother and Papa are coming back in a week to start preparing," Anne continued, her smile getting even brighter. The children saw little of their parents, so that made the news even better.

"It's going to be a madhouse here until then, you do realize that?" Edward asked.

"What do you mean?" Jane wanted to know.

"They'll want to make sure everything's absolutely perfect before the King gets here, I'm sure. At least we're here and not at Hever – it would be much too crowded. It explains why we didn't move as usual this year."

Hever was the original Boleyn family home, in Kent. The children often spent most of the summer there instead of at Wiltshire House, and they'd actually been trying to figure out why they hadn't been sent there yet. Now they had their answer.

"The Queen's coming too," Jane said brightly. "I wonder what she's like?"

"The whole court will be here, it's going to be wonderful. Don't you think so, N – Edward?" Anne changed names at the last second with an angelic smile that fooled no one.

"I think it's going to be interesting, at least."

* * *

Interesting was not the word Edward's mother would have used. Frustrating, irritating, even terrifying were all words that had crossed Margery Boleyn's mind, but interesting was categorically not one of them. Since she and Thomas had arrived, the entire house had been in a state of near-madness. The building was being cleaned from top to bottom, and the servants resented their mistress' intrusion on it all. But she wasn't about to leave it to the housekeeper, for all that the woman generally did a good job. The King was coming, and a good job would not be enough. So she was keeping an eye on it herself, to be safe.

She was also speaking to the children's governesses and tutor. According to Mr. Jenner, all of them were progressing well, though he noted that Edward and Anne seemed to be the most interested in their lessons. She'd already guessed that, and suspected that he hadn't said anything like that to her husband. Thomas didn't care who found the lessons interesting and who didn't, as long as all of the children completed them. As for the governesses, their influence had waned some since all the children began working with the tutor, but their reports were also satisfactory.

Margery was particularly impressed with Mary. Though her eldest stepdaughter was only an average student, she was quite skilled in household management, enough so that Margery decided to have Mary help her prepare for the King's visit.

"This is good practice for you, you know," she said, a little uncertainly. George and Anne had warmed up to her fairly easily, during the brief periods she could spend with them, but Mary had always held herself aloof. She and Mary were currently poring over a list that had been sent from court – likely from Cardinal Wolsey – about who would be accompanying the King and Queen to Wiltshire House. Trying to figure out who could be housed where was quite a task.

Mary glanced up, hazel eyes wary. "How so, my lady mother?" she asked formally.

Margery bit back a sigh at the girl's distant tone. This was why she had wanted to spend more time at Wiltshire House, because she hadn't wanted her stepchildren to see her as a stranger. It was even worse, though, because her own children were beginning to feel the same way. She hadn't wanted this to happen when she remarried. "You're going to be married to Northumberland's heir. This is the sort of thing you will have to do, being the wife of someone destined to have a great place in England."

"I know that, madam."

Margery hesitated, and then went with her first impulse. "I've met young Lord Percy," she told the girl, who looked up in shock, dark eyes wide. "He seems like a very kind-hearted young man, and quite handsome as well. He asked about you, and he and his father will be accompanying the King when he visits. He told me that he is looking forward to meeting you."

Mary stared at her, and Margery could see the nerves that the girl was trying to hide. Impulsively, she reached for her stepdaughter's hand and squeezed it lightly. "It is all going to be all right, Mary, believe me."

The look in the girl's eyes was one Margery recognized. Hope, and fear. Because this was something all women of their rank faced; marriage to a stranger, a life chosen for them and not by them. It was how things were, and Margery couldn't imagine anything else, but that did not mean that it was ever easy. It was anything but, and all she could do for Mary was to try and ease the path as much as possible.

* * *

Thomas Boleyn stood at the window of his study, looking down into the gardens. It was late afternoon, and he imagined lessons must have ended or else his children would not be out there. Most at court who knew him would be surprised that he did not know for certain, but though he kept everything in his world under rigid control, why should he care when the children were done with lessons? If he wished to speak with them he would have them brought here, lessons or no.

But he considered the chance to observe them secretly more important than dragging them up here, for the moment at least. Boleyn was not a foolish man, and while he had no intention of letting those six – three his by blood and three the children of his wife, but still his to use, now – order their own lives, anyone with sense knew that using people against their natures yielded substandard results.

So he observed them, both when he called them to this room to ascertain their progress in person and when he watched at times like this. He needed to know where each of them would do best, and then put them there.

The girls were easier, of course. Marriage was the plan for all three of them; it was choosing who would be the best match that was the tricky part. Mary was taken care of – she and the Percy boy would be married in a few years' time, after he'd sent her to France to acquire some polish. He doubted he could find as good of a match for Jane as for the daughters of his blood, simply because she did not have the lineage, but a few more years with the tutor followed by time in France would make her a charming wife for someone whose loyalty he wished to cultivate.

It was Anne who drew his attention. Jenner said that she was as quick at her lessons as any of the boys, and while a woman who was too educated could be a problem, intelligence had its uses when properly harnessed. Anne would finish her tutoring, she would go to France and learn the tricks of the women there – though not their morals. And when she returned, he would give her to the best match in the kingdom, and he would use her the way she was meant to be used. If she were a boy, he could have made her his rising star at court, but as it was, she would create a rising star who would be loyal to his father-in-law. He was sure Anne could do it.

The boys were another matter. He wasn't sure what to do with his younger stepson. Thomas was a reckless fool, but he was only ten. It was hard to gauge what sort of a man he would grow to be. If he outgrew his foolishness – and even if he didn't the plan could still work – Boleyn suspected he'd make a half-decent soldier. He could probably talk his former brother-in-law, Norfolk, into taking the boy under his wing. He had never liked Elizabeth's brother, and the feeling was mutual, but if Thomas showed skill at fighting, Norfolk would be interested, if only for the chance to try turning one of Boleyn's own against him.

George was simpler. The only son of his blood, the eleven-year-old was his heir. As such, Boleyn would start grooming the boy in a few years' time. George was not particularly keen on his lessons, he suspected, though he made a good showing. If he did not, he would regret it. But even performing adequately it was clear that he was not a scholar. The boy was charming, however. With that, and a level of intelligence, which he seemed to have, he would do very well at court. George seemed to be growing into the type of athletic young man that the King liked, which was all to the good.

Edward was John Seymour's heir, of course, and while that didn't entail much, it was Boleyn's responsibility to make sure the boy knew how to handle that. But more than that... Edward was like Anne, he was sharp in ways the other boys weren't. Boleyn wasn't yet sure how to use that – he could place the boy well at the English court or get him into a position abroad to spy there. One of the two was most likely, though.

He would send George and Thomas to court in a few years' time, once Mary returned from France and the younger girls replaced her there. Edward he hadn't decided on yet; he might send the elder Seymour to university first. No matter where he sent any of them, though, it would be for the singular purpose of securing the family. He had a title, one earned by the bravery of his grandfather at the court of Henry V. But a title alone did not mean one was favored at court, not when the King surrounded himself with young men of decent breeding but no rank, like Brandon, Compton, and Knivert. Boleyn himself was just a bit too old to be one of the King's favorites in that way, though his political skill had brought him some measure of favor. It was the children who, once they were grown up enough to be of use, would secure true favor for them all. That was the only goal.

* * *

"The Queen is so pretty," Anne whispered to Jane as their parents greeted the King and Queen. "And the King is so handsome!"

Jane had to agree. She thought that the royal couple, even in their traveling clothes, looked like a king and queen from fairy tales, and that made sense because their real story was like a fairy tale. Mrs. Sotheby had told them all about it. The Queen had come to England as the Princess Catalina, sent to marry Arthur, Prince of Wales. But then he'd died and Catalina had spent seven years in poverty, waiting to find out if she would marry the new heir, Prince Harry.

The King then, Henry VII, had promised that she would, but then he kept changing his mind, which was why the Princess had suffered so during those seven years. But then he had died and Prince Harry became King and married the Princess. They changed their names together, becoming King Henry VIII and Queen Katherine, which Jane thought was every bit as romantic as how the Queen had been saved by her husband. It was just sad that they had no son, that their bonny Prince Harry, the New Years' baby as he had been called, had died in his cradle. But they had a baby daughter now, the Princess Mary, and everyone in the country was sure that a boy would soon follow.

Jane was sure that the King didn't blame the Queen, though. She'd heard the staff whisper about it, about how it had been years and no son yet, how the King must be getting angry with the Queen now. They tended not to notice her, because she was small and quiet, and she'd figured out a long time ago that she could learn things that way. Anne thought it was fantastic that she could do that, and even Edward had been impressed. Mary, George, and Thomas didn't seem to understand why she bothered.

But she was sure that the servants were wrong. The King and Queen obviously loved each other; how could he be mad at her for something that surely made her as sad as he was? Jane didn't have any more time to wonder, though, as she and the others were being beckoned forward. The boys were introduced first, then Mary, and then she and Anne were beckoned forward together. Anne didn't look nervous at all when she curtsied, as steady as she could and with a bright smile for the King and Queen. Jane focused on keeping herself from wobbling, but she managed a shy little smile of her own.

The King was grinning at Anne, clearly liking how unafraid she was, but the Queen was looking at Jane, and her kind smile made the little girl forget to be afraid. The Queen was so nice that she couldn't be scared anymore.

A/N: Sorry it's been a while, guys, the Inception fandom kidnapped me. It's letting me go enough to write Tudors again – a deal has been struck with my battling muses. Finally. ;) Next chapter, we see more of the royal visit, meet Henry Percy, and are 'treated' to more Thomas Boleyn scheming. Such fun, yes?


	4. Setting Up The Game Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Twenty-year-old college student here, it's really not mine.

Disclaimer: Twenty-year-old college student here, it's really not mine.

 _ **Chapter 4 – Setting Up The Game Pieces:**_ The first day was fairly easy to deal with. The king and chosen courtiers went hunting, with Boleyn and the three boys coming along. The boys' ears were still ringing from the lecture they'd been given beforehand – Boleyn wanted it to be very clear that he would tolerate no misbehavior from any of them.

Edward couldn't help but be relieved by that – Tom and George would probably have tried to pull some prank otherwise, with an eye to impressing the King with their daring. Of course, maybe it would have worked, there was no way to know. Since his brothers were too scared of his stepfather to dare, though, it didn't matter. Which left him relaxed enough to concentrate on watching the courtiers. He was going to be among them one day, and he wanted to be the best, so it was a good idea to watch now.

Not to mention, the girls would want a full report – even Mary was clamoring with Anne and Jane for once. He didn't mind being the one to inform them of things; he liked having the knowledge to share because it made him feel like he was nearly an adult already. He wasn't the only one; George was watching carefully as well, though he seemed more interested in the hunt itself, especially the hounds. George was good with hounds and always had been. Tom was focused on trying to keep up with the men, with mild success.

There was something else Edward noticed. Whenever the King wasn't talking to someone or else focused on the hunt, he watched the three boys. Edward wasn't sure what was behind the intensity in the King's eyes, but it made him more than a little uncomfortable, especially when he saw how his stepfather marked it. Clearly, it was important, but he couldn't quite understand it.

At twelve, Edward was sharp enough to see Henry's inability to stop himself from watching Boleyn's three boys, but he did not yet have the skill to read what was in the King's eyes. Henry was struggling with a terrible envy as he rode with Wiltshire and his favored courtiers. Oh, he knew that two of the three healthy boys Boleyn claimed were not his by blood, but the children of his wife's first husband. And yet, that did nothing to soothe the King's jealousy. It still proved that other men's wives – even dead men's wives – provided them with strong sons to be heirs to their paltry manor houses.

So why, _why_ would god not grant a son to him, the King of England? Why had Katherine produced two stillborn children and a son who had lived less than three months? Henry reminded himself that they had Mary now, who looked to be a healthy, strong princess. Perhaps she was a sign that whatever had been wrong was now over. Perhaps this time next year, Katherine would have given him another son, and this one would have lived, and he would no longer eye other men's sons with bitter longing. Perhaps.

But he could not shake the fear that it would not happen, that there was something wrong he had not yet discovered. If that were the case, what was he going to do?

* * *

Mary slipped out into the gardens after the evening meal – well, banquet was the more appropriate word. She had to admit that having the court here was exciting, but it was also tiring. She thought she would prefer to actually be at court, where others took care of all the arrangements and all the courtiers had to worry about was pleasing the King and avoiding a misstep amongst the various intrigues.

She would soon get the chance to find out if that were true, since she would be leaving for France once the King was gone. She didn't know how she felt about that; she wasn't Anne to love adventure or Jane to want to have new people to watch and listen to. But she supposed it would be more interesting than living here or at Hever would be, and that was something.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you!" said an uncertain voice. Mary spun around to see a young man only a year or two older than she was. He was attractive, with a handsome face, green eyes, and dark, curling hair. Mary curtseyed slightly, offering a polite smile.

"You're not disturbing me, sir."

He smiled back, and then he narrowed his eyes. "Are you Lady Mary Boleyn?" he said, his voice still unsure.

"Yes, why do you ask?"

He shrugged, glancing down at his feet, then looking back up at her. "Well, I'm glad I found you then. I'm Henry Percy. They've told you we're to be married, yes?"

"Of course they have, my lord, and I was quite pleased when they did." She wasn't sure what else to say in the face of his shy, happy smile.

"I confess, I wasn't sure, I'm a quiet sort, I don't really know how to have good relations with people. I write poetry and stay silent as others flirt and joke." He bit his lip, then continued. "I fear I may make a disappointing husband."

Mary had to bite back a laugh. He didn't sound so bad to her. "Well, I don't know if I know how to be a wife. We shall have to learn together then."

The grin she got in return was almost blinding. "I think I like the idea of that, Lady Mary."

"That's good to know, Lord Henry."

"Hal, please. We don't need to be formal, do we?"

"Then I'm just Mary, Hal."

They walked in the garden for a good hour, talking mostly of simple things. It was surprisingly easy to talk to him, Mary found, and when her stepmother found them and asked her to come back inside, she was sorry to end the conversation. But Margery pulled her aside to speak to her.

"Mary, it's good that you were talking with Lord Percy, but you must be careful not to be alone with him again. I trust you, but the last thing you need is for someone to see and disapprove. You know your father would not take such a thing well."

Mary would have liked to argue, to snap at her stepmother for sticking her nose in where it wasn't wanted, but she knew that the woman was right. Had her father seen her with Hal, he would have been furious. So she nodded and then let her stepmother lead her back to the banquet hall, to rejoin the visitors. Mary, Edward, and George were the only ones still there; Thomas, Anne, and Jane had been sent away an hour or so ago, to their disappointment. The boys were sitting together but not talking much, Mary saw, which was hardly a surprise. They got on, but George and Thomas understood each other better than either of them did Edward.

She walked over to rescue them from what she imagined was shared boredom, feeling in high spirits. She didn't have to worry about her marriage now, she suspected. Hal seemed kind, so maybe all would truly be well.

* * *

It was the last night of the King's visit, which had lasted for five days. Thomas Boleyn was in his study, for once simply sitting back in his chair. Anyone would have thought that he was taking the first chance to relax that he'd had in days, but they would have been wrong. His eyes showed that, as cold and calculating as ever. Just now he was studying the wall, but that was not what he was really seeing. He was running over the past days in his mind, and overall he was well-pleased.

The King seemed to enjoy himself, and for all that he was, in some ways, good at dissembling when he had to, pleasure was something Henry VIII rarely bothered to fake. Boleyn suspected that the King enjoyed the nervous reactions that were the result of his frowns. The Queen had seemed quietly somber, but that was beginning to be her trademark, really. Every year that passed with no son weakened her position, and a smart man like Boleyn kept his eye on such things.

Approaching footsteps made him focus his gaze again, to find one of the staff standing by his desk. "My lord, His Grace of Buckingham wishes to speak with you."

Buckingham? Well, that was unexpected... and interesting. What would Buckingham want with him? The man despised everyone whose title wasn't as old as his own, and while the Boleyns were fully-established peers, the Staffords were older. Not to mention they had royal blood. But to be honest, Buckingham was just infuriatingly arrogant and his bloodline didn't feel like enough of an excuse.

Still, there was no trace of Boleyn's dislike on his face when the servant showed the duke in. "Your Grace," he said, inclining his head politely.

"Wiltshire," Buckingham said, jerking his head in acknowledgment.

"Please, sit. Wine?"

"Yes."

The servant poured wine for both men, then discreetly left. Boleyn fixed the other man with a sharp look, because despite the minor disparity in rank, this was still his home, still the area where he was in control. Of course, one gave that control up to the King, but with another noble, even a higher-ranking one, the rules were not the same. "What can I do for you, Your Grace?"

Buckingham took a sip of his wine, then met Boleyn's eyes. "Your younger daughter, the one of your blood... Anne, yes?"

"Yes, what of her?"

"My boy Henry is closer in age to your eldest, but I understand that Northumberland agreed on her as a bride for his heir. The gap between Henry and your Anne is not insurmountable, and I was quite impressed by her maturity."

Excitement flared in Boleyn's mind, but he did not allow it to show, calmly setting his goblet on the desk and folding his hands. "Anne is young, but she is intelligent for her age, and would make anyone a good wife once she becomes a young woman."

"Perhaps for my boy," Buckingham said evenly.

"It would be an honor to join our houses in such a way."

"Well, Boleyn, we shall see. Both children have some maturing to do, but I see no obstacle at this point."

Anne as a duchess, married to a man with royal blood in his veins. If it worked out, it could be a triumph.

* * *

Three days later, the six children of the house called a meeting. It wasn't the first time they'd done such a thing, heading off to a small clearing on the grounds that only they seemed to know of, but this time there was a very distinct purpose in mind. All of them had known that Mary was to go to France for a few years and then come back to be married, but the fates of the rest of them had been somewhat in question. But now they all knew what was to happen to them. Their father had finally seen fit to tell them, so that they could begin to prepare themselves for it more properly.

Jane wasn't sure how she felt, especially since not one but two of her siblings were to be leaving very soon. Mary was headed for France, of course, and they'd known that for some time, but it turned out that Edward was to be sent away to Cambridge. She could tell, even as he sat calmly against a tree trunk, that he was thrilled. It was there in the way that he couldn't keep entirely still, his fingers drumming against his knee and his eyes glittering with excitement.

Of course, he wasn't the only one. George and Thomas were grinning from ear to ear. They'd been told that they would be leaving for court in two years. One of them would, if all went well, be placed with the King, and the other with Cardinal Wolsey. Their father hadn't been any more specific than that, and Jane wondered if he even knew where the boys would be yet.

As for her and Anne, when Mary returned, they would be going to France in her place. Anne was giddy with excitement and even now was dancing around the clearing with her skirts and hair whirling around her. She was dancing with George, actually, who was happy enough to be talked into doing it. Thomas was in one of the trees again, perched on a low branch. She did not understand why he did that, and was sitting beneath it. She laid back on the grass, looking up at him. "Tom, why are you in a tree again?"

"I like being up here, I can see everything," he said, with a shrug. "I'd like to have it all be mine one day."

"It's going to be mine, I'm the heir," George said, pulling away from Anne to frown at Thomas.

"I didn't mean literally this," Thomas said, rolling his eyes. "Just... someplace like it. You know. I want to grow up and be an important man at court, and get a title of my own."

"Don't we all," Edward drawled, and Jane was too young to know that it was irony in his tone, but she knew her brothers well enough to know that someone had best step in now or it could get nasty.

"Oh, stop being so grumpy, boys!" Anne called gaily. "We're all going to have adventures, though most of us have to wait a little. But it's a good thing, isn't it?"

"I don't want us to all be split up," Jane said quietly. She flushed bright red when they all looked at her, but it was true. She liked having them all about, even if the only ones she spent much time with were Anne and sometimes Edward. She liked watching George and Thomas when they were rowdy, and Mary was so pretty and grown-up. She liked being in the middle of all the bustle, but still safe. But at least, no matter where she went, Anne would be there too, and she knew she could trust Anne. Even in France they would be able to trust in each other.

"Oh, it won't be forever, Jane," Mary said, shaking her head. "And when we all meet again, we'll be adults and we'll always work together. That's what Father wants, really, for all of us to be well-placed at court so that we can raise the family ever higher. So we'll always have to work together, I imagine."

"If our husbands allow us," Anne frowned. "Jane and I heard some servants gossiping – Father may have spoken to the Duke of Buckingham about me as a bride for his son. I didn't like the Duke, he seemed... cruel."

Jane agreed. She hadn't liked the Duke's eyes, they were far too cold. "But maybe the son is nicer, if it comes to that," she said bracingly.

"It's not as though it matters, though," Edward pointed out calmly. His expression said he didn't really like what he was saying, but that he knew it to be true. "We haven't got any choices here. But Anne, I wouldn't worry yet, as there's nothing official."

Anne brightened again, but Jane couldn't. She didn't want things to change, but it seemed that they were going to, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Even if she wished desperately that there was.

A/N: Wow. OK, apologies for this taking so long. Part of the problem (besides Inception, if you look on my LiveJournal you'll see where my muses have been, again) was that, to be perfectly honest, I don't like writing these guys as kids. I want to get to them as adults and into my AU Season 1. So, with that in mind, I'm asking you guys what you want next. Either we jump directly into the Field of Cloth of Gold next, or I have a bridge chapter between this chapter and that one, comprised of letters the siblings send to each other over the intervening years. Let me know which you guys prefer in your reviews!


	5. Fields of Gold

At twenty-two years old, Edward Seymour was no longer a boy, but having spent ten years at Cambridge University and then a year at his family home of Wolf Hall, he wasn't exactly used to the full hubbub of court. And this was even worse than usual, as it was not one court but two. Both the French and English courts were out in force, with all the ostentation and arrogance that implied. 

 

For someone used to Cambridge or to the country life at Wolf Hall, it should have been overwhelming. But Edward had always known he'd be heading to court eventually, and instead he simply placed himself on the sidelines, walking around but not interacting. It would give him a chance to get a feel for the important players, some of whom he knew about from his brothers' letters, and for the general dynamics among the courtiers. He hadn't changed that much from his childhood; he still preferred to watch those around him rather than throw himself into being part of it all. 

 

“You know, we're supposed to have fun during this summit,” said a laughing voice in his ear. “Honestly, Edward, am I going to have to shove you into another duckpond to make you relax?”

 

Edward glared at George. “You'd best not try, my lord Ormonde,” he said, voice dry as dust as he used his brother's title, something George had once insisted on. George's only reaction was to roll his eyes. 

 

“You really must learn to take a joke, my dear older brother. Speaking of brothers, have you seen Thomas anywhere?”

 

“No,” Edward said, frowning. “He's probably off trying to charm a French girl, and I'm quite honestly surprised that you're not doing the same.” 

 

“Who says I wasn't earlier?” George retorted cheekily. “But honestly, I'm more interested in finding two specific girls. I mean, none of us have seen Jane and Anne since Mary's wedding seven years ago; aren't you curious to see how they've grown up? I mean, my God, they're seventeen now, and they've lived in France for so long I wonder if they're even English anymore.”

 

Personally, Edward couldn't imagine Jane as anything other than quintessentially English, though he could see Anne absorbing more of the French attitudes. If nothing else, that would make sense; the two of them had always been a perfectly matched pair because they were almost total opposites. But that might no longer be the case; seven years could have changed them completely.

 

He and George set off, spending as much time looking at the sights as trying to find their sisters. Edward was impressed by how convincing the model castle was, and found the tents made of cloth of gold to be perfect for the effect of wealth and power, but more than a little ridiculously extravagant. They were just tents, and would be ruined after this.

 

He didn't say anything about it to George, though. His brother had spent seven of the past ten years at court, after all, and so he probably didn't see anything wrong with any of this. Neither did Edward, exactly; he understood the point behind it. It just seemed... impractical. What was more interesting, to Edward at least, was the people. Seeing who spoke to who, how they reacted to their surroundings, all of that. It said things about them, which he could not yet interpret, but he would, eventually. 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two women dressed like French ladies, strolling around the English encampment. One, slightly shorter, had pale blonde hair, while her companion had jet black hair. Could that...?

 

“George, look over there,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the two women. 

 

“You think that's Anne and Jane?” George asked. Edward nodded, and George grinned. “Anne! Jane!” 

 

“Are you trying to shout my ear off, you – ” Edward cut himself off abruptly when the women in question turned at George's call, and even though it had been seven years since he's seen the girls, there was no mistaking them. Especially not when Anne threw all propriety to the winds after she and Jane walked over calmly, all but tackling George with the force of her hug. George fell back a step, the two of them laughing, and Jane shot Edward a wry smile before following Anne's lead and hugging Edward – thankfully in a more subdued way. Not that he escaped Anne's more exuberant greeting when the girls switched a moment later. 

 

“My God,” George said, “if I didn't know better I'd think the pair of you were Frenchwomen! Mary was not so changed when she came back!” 

 

“Mary was only here for three years,” Anne said. “We have been here for seven. And what about the two of you? You're a rising young man at court, George, and Ned, our university man! What of Tom, I'm sure he's vaulting too?”

 

“Oh God, not that nickname again,” Edward muttered.

 

“You haven't heard it in seven years, only read it in the occasional letter,” Jane teased. “Surely you can accept it for a few days. After all, who knows when we will see each other again?”

 

“Who are you and what happened to our quiet little Jane?” George said, astonished.

 

“I grew up a little. And I grew up with Anne.” 

 

Anne laughed, her expresson one of mock hurt. “I think I should be insulted,” she said. Then she grinned. “But I can't exactly deny it.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

It was strange to be among English speakers again, Jane thought as they all gathered to watch Princess Mary be presented to the young Dauphin. Admittedly, she and Anne were stationed behind Queen Claude's chair, ready to serve as interpreters for her and Queen Katherine, so there were still many French courtiers close by. But the English were mingling with them, and for the first time in years Jane was hearing her language spoken by someone other than herself or Anne.

 

Jane thought it should feel comforting, but instead she just felt odd. As though she didn't quite belong. She would ask Anne, later, if she felt the same way, but for now they were on display, though not as much as the two children currently being made to walk across the table toward each other. She had to pity Prince Francis and Princess Mary, even though the princess didn't seem at all bothered by having the eyes of two courts on her. Instead, she had a childish version of her mother's confidence and clear hints of her father's charm. The Dauphin, on the other hand, was far more reluctant. 

 

“Are you the Dauphin of France?” Mary asked sweetly.

 

“Oui,” Francis said, just a little sullen.

 

“Then I should like to kiss you.” And with that the little princess leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the young prince's cheek. His response, Jane thought, was typical for a small boy; he yelped and swiped his hand across his cheek. Mary took offense to that, pushing the other young royal down. Jane and Anne exchanged quick, amused looks, both of them biting their lips to hold in giggles.

 

“Mary,” King Henry said sternly, but Jane saw the hint of a smile on his face and it was clear that he'd enjoyed seeing his daughter knock down Francis' son. But then, it had been fun to watch.

 

Henry and his Queen had both changed from how they'd been during the visit to Wiltshire House ten years before. The Queen especially looked older, more careworn, and the King seemed to have lost some of the easy charm she remembered him having. But then, their only child was now seven years old and there was no sign of a baby brother for her; that alone probably had a lot to do with it. It had been talked about in the French court ever since the betrothal had been suggested, how Francis certainly wouldn't object to the thought of his son being King of two countries – since surely he would be granted the Crown Matrimonial – and his grandson inheriting them both.

 

The tension did not decrease much during the day, even as gifts were exchanged, everyone especially awed by the pie with living birds baked inside. But Jane still saw the way the French and English nobles watched each other, could hear the snide comments made as she walked by, and it just added to the sense of unreality. But then, she was an English girl in a French dress, there with the French court. Of course she felt unreal.

 

“Janey!” Jane turned to see Thomas, who she hadn't had much chance to speak to yet, running to catch up with her. “Sister dear, how are you?” 

 

Jane glanced at Thomas, who had certainly changed from the tousle-haired boy she remembered. Well, so had Edward and George; George looked like a seasoned courtier, which he was after seven years among the King's attendants, and the intelligence in Edward's eyes had only grown keener as a result of his university education. Thomas was different too, a courtier like George but with a... more devilish air about him, she decided. George still seemed ready for mischief, but nothing serious. Thomas, as he looked to her, seemed like the men at the French court who stirred up real trouble. Of course, she didn't really know him anymore, as he was the one who wrote least often, out of all six of them, so perhaps her judgment wasn't fair.

 

“You would know better how I am if you wrote more often,” she said, her voice lightly chiding. “Does Cardinal Wolsey keep his household so very busy?”

 

“Sometimes, but there are so many distractions at court, as you, a veteran of France, surely know better than I do!”

 

Jane rolled her eyes. “I'm sure George partakes of those as much as you do, yet he still finds time to write,” she informed him. 

 

Thomas grinned, so much like his cheerful boy's smile years ago that Jane couldn't help but smile back. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and laughed in her ear. “Come on, now, don't be like that. We can catch up now, and maybe you can introduce me to some of your friends?”

 

Ah. So he wanted to meet some French ladies in hopes of being invited to someone's bed. Jane should really have seen that one coming; George had joked about it too, earlier. “Perhaps, but you will have to make it worth my while by telling me everything you've neglected to write about,” she said, as stern as King Francis' mother, the woman known by everyone simply as Madame.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Anne was more than a little disgusted by the display that night, the Kings of England and France throwing themselves at each other like common brawlers. And of course, it was the English King who proved to be an ungracious loser. Several of her French “friends” had already commented to her about it, much to Anne's irritation. Men! The vast majority of them were fools, and it drove her half mad.

 

Walking through the camp, she saw a man perched on a box, paper and pen in hand. He was focused on the paper, as he wrote something down, and Anne could not help her curiosity. Besides, there was something vaguely familiar about him. He glanced up and saw her, and after a moment... “Master Wyatt!” she said with surprised pleasure. During the summers at Hever, she and her siblings had often played with the Wyatt children, gentry who lived not far from the Boleyn home. 

 

Their father would not have approved of the familiarity the children had shared, but the children’s attendants had seen it as good for them to get to know other young people outside the family, of a rank not too far below their own. There had been three Wyatts, Thomas and his sisters Mary and Margaret. Anne hadn't thought of any of them in years.

 

“My God. Lady Anne?” Wyatt stared at her, eyes wide with shock. Anne flashed her brilliant, French-taught smile at him.

 

“That would be me,” she said with a laugh. “What are you writing? Do you still wish to be a poet?”

 

“I am a poet, my lady, I'm becoming known as one at court.” His smile was a bit smug, but that was to be expected of a man who was achieving what he'd wanted out of life, Anne decided.

 

“Truly? Well, then, surely you won't mind sharing some of your work, Master Poet,” she commented.

 

Wyatt looked surprised, but then he grinned and began to read from the paper he held. 

 

“In court to serve decked with fresh array, 

Of sugared meats feeling the sweet repast:

The life in banquets, and sundry kinds of play, 

Amid the press of lordly looks to waste, 

Hath with it joined oft times such bitter taste. 

That who so enjoys such kind of life to hold, 

In prison joys fettered with chains of gold. “

 

Anne was impressed. Not only were the words pretty, but he had a pleasant reading voice. It was the sort of voice one might like to sit and listen to with one's eyes closed, letting the words build a world of dreams. “You're very good, Mr. Wyatt,” she said with a soft smile. “And I'm glad to hear that you are doing well for yourself.” She would have said more, but she saw one of her friends among the French ladies waving in her direction, clearly trying to get her attention. 

 

“I'm being summoned to my duties,” she said quickly. “I'd best go. It was wonderful to see you again, though.”

 

“The pleasure was mine, Lady Anne,” Wyatt said as she walked away, and Anne allowed herself a quietly amused smile at the warmth in his voice. She'd resisted greater charm than Thomas Wyatt possessed, most likely.

 

The errand she was called to take on was brief, and soon Anne was back in the royal tent, ready to attend on either of her mistresses; she and Jane divided their time between Queen Claude's household and that of Francis' sister, the Duchess Marguerite's. Anne preferred Marguerite and Jane was more comfortable with Claude, but both women were the sort of mistresses one in royal service would hope to have. Jane arrived a moment later, looking rather annoyed. 

 

“What's wrong with you?” Anne asked her, in English and in an undertone.

 

“Tom decided to use me to meet women, it was more than a little embarrassing,” Jane replied. “I should have simply told him no, of course, but...”

 

“You're still too nice,” Anne said, shaking her head. She let the subject drop, though, as belaboring it wouldn't exactly benefit anyone. “So, what do you think of the summit so far?”

 

“It's strange, to be caught between the English and the French, at least for me. Do you feel like that?” 

 

Anne considered it. In some ways, yes, she agreed with Jane. English sounded strange to her ears after years of nothing but French, save for conversations like these with Jane. And yet... She liked the glamour of it all, and the feeling that she was in the middle of it. “It's like us,” she said suddenly, not even meaning to.

 

“What?”

 

“We're both English and French, in some ways,” Anne explained. “And so in some ways this summit is the perfect setting for us, since we can go between groups in a way many people can't.” She grinned. “And ignoring all that, our family's together again, except for Mary, and that's in a good cause.”

 

“Our first niece or nephew, yes. I hope we get to see the baby soon,” Jane said wistfully. 

 

“Jane! You want to go home then?” Anne asked.

 

“Don't you? I mean, eventually. Perhaps not immediately, but... I don't want to be in France forever.” 

 

Anne would be happy to stay in France forever if it came to it. Well... No, not exactly. She would want to, if not for her family. She didn't like the thought of losing them for good. So she nodded, slowly. “In the end... I suppose I want to go home too. But not yet. I think we still have things to learn from France, don't you?”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Thomas Boleyn was alone in the family tent, save for his wife, who was asleep. The boys, he assumed, were carousing as the young men of court did. That suited him well, as it gave him a chance to think. 

 

This treaty would never hold. That much was clear. Such things rarely did, and with two relatively young, hot-blooded, arrogant monarchs on the throne, it would last for even less time than it might otherwise. It was painfully obvious that the two men saw themselves as rivals on a personal level and an alliance between them was doomed to a quicker collapse than if it were otherwise. He would have to see about extricating Anne and Jane from the French court, though it was best done quietly unless open hostilities broke out very quickly.

 

And then there was Buckingham. The proud fool actually thought he could take the throne from the Tudor line. Even with no male heir as of yet, that was unlikely. The people loved their King, and anyone seeking to take his place would likely find themselves with a popular rising that, after a coup, they would be far less likely to be able to cope well with.

 

Not that Boleyn cared what happened to Buckingham. But it explained why the man had dragged his feet on the matter of Anne's marrying his son. He probably hoped that when he was King and his boy Prince of Wales, he could get a royal bride for him. Or, if he showed sense, he'd marry his son to Henry's daughter Mary the way Henry Tudor married Elizabeth of York. Either way, Buckingham had clearly been waiting for better opportunities. It was a blessing now, since Anne had never been formally precontracted to the Stafford boy.

 

Unfortunately it meant the search for a good husband for Anne would have to begin again. And he would need to find someone for Jane too. There were rumors that Henry was to make his friend Brandon a high-ranking peer; perhaps he would be a good choice for Anne if that happened, though Boleyn wasn't sure of that. Brandon was a feckless oaf most of the time, but his closeness to the King could be invaluable. Only if he was given a title, though; if not he might do for Jane, though. 

 

No matter his eventual choices for their spouses, he was sure that his daughters would be returning to England sooner rather than later, so he would have to ensure that they were given places at court in Katherine's household. He would also have to remain close to Buckingham for now, to report everything he saw to that snake, Wolsey. Right now, Wolsey was the key to royal favor, and Boleyn intended to take full advantage of this situation.

 


	6. On English Soil

No one said anything to them directly, but neither Anne nor Jane were fools, and they picked up on things. Jane's ability to fade into the background and hear things not meant for her ears had never gone away, and as for Anne, she could read the tension at court easily, especially when it began to be directed at them.

 

“It would be nice,” Anne commented as she entered the bedchamber the two young women shared, “if someone would just speak to us.” It hadn't quite been a year since the Field of Cloth of Gold summit, but if the two English girls at the heart of the French court were suddenly people to be avoided...

 

Jane was lying on her bed but sat up when Anne entered. “People are whispering that King Henry's tiring of the alliance with Francis and is considering joining forces with the Emperor,” she said. 

 

“Yes, I'd heard that too. You know if the alliance really does fall apart, we'll have to go home. We can't stay here if France and England are at war, or even just hostile.” Anne sighed, shaking her head. “I'm not ready to leave yet, to be honest. Although seeing everyone again would be nice; I think seeing them all months ago at the summit only makes it harder to be away from them now.”

 

“And there's Mary's new son, James – or Jamie, as she says they've started calling him – who I'm wild to see,” Jane commented. “But even if we wanted to stay, Anne... I don't think we're going to have a choice, do you?”

 

“Not at all,” Anne agreed grimly. “And I understand, but from the boys' letters, England sounds so... provincial compared to here. I almost think sometimes I'd rather marry a French lord and stay here if it didn't mean cutting myself away from our family for good.” She sighed. “I wonder how much time we have left until we're either summoned or sent packing.”

 

Not much longer, as it turned out. It was less than a week after the conversation in the girls' shared bedchamber when they received a letter from their father. All the English merchants were leaving Paris, and it was expected that Anne and Jane leave as well. Their father had secured places in Queen Katherine's household for both of them, which was a relief. They'd wondered if one of them might be placed with Princess Margaret, who was apparently soon due to leave for the court of Portugal.

 

But that, thankfully, was not to be. Whatever they would end up facing in their new lives, at least they wouldn't be separated. That was what Anne told herself as she stood on the deck of the ship that was taking them home again, even though part of her already missed France so much it hurt. She remembered this feeling, as it was similar to that which she'd had on leaving England seven years before, and the irony of that did not escape her at all. 

 

It was a new adventure though, she had to admit that. After all, she was sure that between them, she and Jane could have half the men at court falling in love with them, which would be fun as long as they were careful not to let it go too far. And learning just how far one could go without it being a risk was one of the things every young woman learned in France, or else she'd find herself in quite a bit of trouble.

 

Jane was asleep belowdecks at the moment; though neither sister suffered from seasickness, Jane occasionally had awful headaches, and unfortunately for her, one of them had struck this morning. So Anne was standing at the rail alone, waiting to see England's coastline appear out of the fog that had not entirely faded today. The wind was blowing in her hair and she couldn't help but feel an odd sense of foreboding, as though this would be much more than a new adventure, as though... 

 

Well. She wasn't entirely sure. And in all honesty, she felt a bit of a fool for giving in to such fantasies. They were going home, that was all, back into England to be launched at the court of their homeland. Surely there couldn't be anything too exciting in that, not for two girls reared in France?

 

~ ~ ~

 

It didn't seem all that long ago that he was the youngest of the three main powers in Christendom, Henry reflected as he was being dressed. But now there was Francis, his junior by a a year, and Charles, who was several years younger. Twenty years old, and both the king of Spain and Holy Roman Emperor. That was why Henry wanted an alliance with Charles instead, though he knew that disappointed his chief minister. Oh, Wolsey thought he hid it well, but Henry was well aware of the Cardinal's French sympathies. He didn't hold it against the older man; Wolsey's first loyalty was to him, after all. 

 

This new alliance wasn't what really plagued his mind, though. Henry thought back to the Field of Cloth of Gold, to the presentation of his daughter and Francis' son. And there was the problem, wasn't it? That he had only a single daughter to his name, and a bastard son. He loved both of his children, of course, but... 

 

Why did he have no son? He was a man like any other, and clearly capable of fathering a son; Henry Fitzroy was proof of that. He had told himself before that it was nothing to be concerned about; his mother had been Edward IV's oldest child, after all, and followed by two more girls before the birth of her brother. As for the age difference between him and Katherine, well, Elizabeth Woodville had been older than her royal husband too. So why, _why_ were he and Katherine sonless after all these years?

 

Forcibly, he pushed the thoughts aside. They would do him little good now, when the Emperor's envoys were coming, and that was not his only concern. Margaret was undoubtedly going to raise a fuss over her marriage to the King of Portugal, and while her complaints would come to nothing, it would be an annoyance to deal with. Why she could not simply be obedient he did not know.

 

But as for the envoys... He was looking forward to the pageant that would be put on for them, at least. Henry took a personal interest in those, and it was going to be quite the spectacle if all went well. He also intended, during the personal audience he was going to grant to the envoys, to invite Charles to visit in person. After last time, with Francis, he was not about to allow himself to be the one on foreign soil again, but he still wanted to meet Charles in person and take the measure of this young man. After all, Henry understood what it was like to come to power at a young age, and he wondered if the other man would be easily manipulated as many had thought Henry himself would be, or if he was already determined to take full control himself.

 

He was, as Wolsey had commented to him, the “old fox” among the three powers now. He'd worn the crown since the age of seventeen, and had more experience than either of the men who were his equals in rank. He had that advantage over them, if nothing else. And he intended to keep that in mind.

 

Anything to take his mind off of his own most pressing problem, as he could not think of a way that he could fix his lack of a son. Not without some kind of drastic change, and he still wasn't sure what the right path would be. For now he would have to wait for a sign.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Well, this much was certainly like France, Jane told herself as she took her place on the second level of the castle model. Anne was a level above, standing next to the King's sister, Princess Margaret. The Princess was “Beauty”, Anne was “Perseverance”, and Jane herself was “Mercy”. Their sister Mary was on the same level as Jane, on the far side, and she was “Kindness”. Jane did not want to know how her stepfather had managed to get all three of them in the pageant. It smacked to her of a deliberate set-up, probably meant to help launch her and Anne at court, since they would soon be joining the ranks of the Queen's ladies. And for Mary, a reintroduction as she'd just returned from her lying-in period. 

 

Jane had to bite back a laugh at the obvious double entendres tossed between the ladies playing the Vices and Master Cornish, in the role of Ardent Desire. The banter was meant to entertain the bystanders, but the women who were part of the pageant had to at least try to keep a straight face. Not that it was easy. She exchanged a quick glance with Anne, thinking that her quick-tongued sister would have made a good lead Vice, had it come to that. 

 

The men rushed the “castle” and Jane felt her wrist gripped by a slightly callused hand. Like most at court, she imagined this man gained any wear to his skin from hunting and jousting. “Mercy, you are my prisoner now,” Liberty informed her, sounding more amused than victorious. Jane smiled, her eyes dancing behind her mask. 

 

They moved into place for the unmasking and she saw that her partner was Anthony Knivert, who George had said was one of the King's great friends. George was here today as well, dancing with a woman whose name Jane could not remember at the moment, assuming she knew. “You're Mistress Seymour, right? George's stepsister, newly arrived from France?” Knivert said when the dance brought them close together. 

 

“That's correct, Master Knivert. And my brother tells me you are one of the King's closest friends.” 

 

“I suppose that's true,” Knivert said with a wry grin before the dance steps called for them to switch partners and Jane found herself dancing with a man she didn't know. She kept up with the steps, but she barely looked at her partner since Anne's was much more interesting. Her sister was dancing with the King, of all people. On a turn, Jane managed to catch Mary's eye, and that quick glance told her that her older sister had seen it too, including the fact that the king had been speaking to Anne, and watching her with an oddly intent gaze throughout the dance.

 

Jane had a bad feeling about this. She knew that look; it was more subtle but it was very like the way King Francis looked at a woman he meant to have. And that... That would be a problem for Anne. Judging from her sister's expression when the dance was finished, she knew that too.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Brandon shifted his weight slightly as he waited for the lady-in-waiting to speak to Princess Margaret, feeling inordinately tense. He still remembered the quick discussion between himself and Henry when the King had told him about the escort duty – not to mention the elevation to the rank of duke. Brandon was still in mild shock over that; he was thrilled, of course, but not such a fool as to think that there would be only positive consequences of this. The old nobles would likely resent him more than they did already, and as for Anthony and William... They were becoming distant already. Brandon was proud enough that it didn't bother him overmuch. He couldn't care less what the nobility thought, as long as it didn't lead to trouble for him. His friends were a bit more of a concern, but he was sure they'd come around. 

 

And then there was his duty. It had obviously been a bad idea to joke about being untrustworthy with a beautiful woman. Really, he should have known better. No man would take it well if his friend made such jokes concerning his sister, even if that man was not King Henry. The crown only made that more pronounced in his old friend. But there'd been an element of truth in it which had made it all the more dangerous. Margaret was beautiful, and if she were anything less than a princess Brandon would have already tried for her. 

 

Maybe. As she came toward him, he wondered if her rebellious, proud temperament would have discouraged or inflamed him under other circumstances. Not that it mattered. He could not let himself think of her that way, it would lead to far too much trouble. “Mr. Brandon,” she said coldly as he bowed in greeting, her icy tone helping to chase away his thoughts. “You are not yet invested a duke, I think?”

 

“No, madam.” That was a blow clearly meant to mock him, and it set Brandon's teeth on edge. 

 

They spoke briefly of her household, and Margaret was quite dismissive, informing him that he could speak to her chamberlain about anything to do with her household. She turned to go, and then hesitated. “I was surprised that my brother chose someone without noble birth to represent him.” She gave him a disdainful once-over. “Even Norfolk would have been better,” she said in an undertone that still carried enough for him to hear it. 

 

Well. Brandon watched her flounce away, clenching his jaw. If she was going to be like that, fine. He was certainly no happier about escorting her than she was about being escorted by him. And if she was simply taking her displeasure with the match out on him, he didn't deserve it and did not intend to simply become her whipping boy. Of course he would be properly respectful, but he would certainly not submit to a woman, not even an arrogant Tudor princess!

 

~ ~ ~

 

Edward knocked on Jane and Anne's bedchamber door – or rather, _Jane's_ door, and that was why he was there in the first place. When his sister opened it, he wasted no time in slipping through the doorway and closing the door firmly behind him. “What is going on? Why did Anne leave court?” It wasn't at all like Anne, who liked to be at the center of things, to suddenly decide that she simply had to go back to Hever, to see it again after all these years. And why Hever, rather than Wiltshire House? George had already gone haring after her, to ask Anne directly, so Edward was left to quiz Jane. 

 

Jane bit her lip. “It's... Well... The King, he sent her a gift. Jewelry, very fine pieces at that. The sort of thing I'd expect him to give the Queen.” 

 

That was the last thing Edward had expected to hear, and he sat down heavily in one of the room's chairs. “What?” he asked blankly, his mind for once unable to fully comprehend. “the King... sent Anne jewelry. How did... Why...?”

 

“She was his second partner at the masque,” Jane said, her voice tight. “When they were dancing together she and I both saw the way he looked at her, like... Well, it was very like how King Francis would look at a woman he meant to have. We both knew it, but hoped nothing would come of it. It's why we didn't say anything. But then the jewels came – she sent them back with a note pleading her unworthiness to receive them – and Anne decided to flee. She wasn't sure what else to do, and wanted a chance to regroup and think. I stayed here so that there would only be one sister missing, and not two.” 

 

George had said nothing of this, and he'd been at the dance too. Tom had too, as a spectator in Cardinal Wolsey's train. Edward hadn't been present; his stepfather was still not entirely sure where to put him to best use so for now Edward was at loose ends. He was looking himself for where he might fit, but until then he was content enough to simply get to know the court better. 

 

That wasn't the point. Why hadn't either of his brothers said anything? In Tom's case, it was obvious; he'd been too busy romancing Lady Scorn to pay attention to the dancing, if his boasting was any indication. As for George, he was no idiot, but he himself would admit to not being the most perceptive man, and he'd likely been paying more attention to his partner as well. Mary, though... 

 

“Why didn't Mary say anything? Didn't she notice?” But then, Mary had left for Northumberland with her husband just after the masque; her father-in-law was ill, perhaps even on his deathbed. She might not have had time. 

 

“We didn't get the chance to talk to her before she left. I know she saw Anne with the King, and she probably guessed some of what we noticed, but how much I don't know.” Jane, who had taken a seat herself, stood and walked to the window, her hands fisted in her skirts. “Edward, this isn't good. I mean, if the King favors Anne, that's fortuitous while it lasts, maybe, but then her reputation is ruined, and she won't make a marriage suited to her blood. I don't want to know what Father will think when he finds out. Anne can't be the King's mistress, she can't afford to be.” 

 

Edward wondered if she could afford not to be. Could Anne, or anyone risk offending the King? Jane was right, of course, and as cold as it was, it would have been better had Jane caught the King's eye. He and his two blood siblings had a knight for a father, even if they had grown up as a marquess' children would. Their stepfather was willing to supplement the dowry left by John Seymour for Jane if needed, he'd already told Edward that, but Jane wasn't likely to make a marriage as good as Anne could. She would be a safer mistress, both for the family and for herself; if her parting with the King was on good terms, he'd likely help in the search for a husband.

 

But it wasn't Jane, though it could have been. She was pretty enough, and had her own charm. But Anne... Edward knew, and he suspected the entire family did as well, that Anne was something... She'd always managed to be different. Now that the news had sunk in, he honestly wasn't as surprised as he might have expected to be. That didn't make this any less a risky situation, though. Between offending the King and trouble for the family in a different way... 

 

Returning to Jane's last statement, there was only one reply he could think to make. “But who is going to tell the King that?”


	7. Never Tell Me The Odds

Much as Thomas Boleyn detested involving his brother-in-law in any of his business, the current situation had forced him to consider it. He and Norfolk were already aligned in their mutual desire to bring down Cardinal Wolsey, but this development was unexpected, and not entirely welcome. 

 

According to Edward, who had it from Jane – and if anyone would know, Jane would – the King had expressed interest in Anne, sending her expensive jewels. Boleyn had been at court long enough to know that gifts were often a way Henry started affairs meant to last longer than a few nights. Elizabeth Blount had been courted that way, for one, and now her bastard son, it was rumored, would soon be given high titles. He was too young for it as yet, but the gossips claimed that the King would honor the boy as soon as young Fitzroy was old enough to participate in the ceremony. 

 

But Elizabeth Blount had been married already, her husband and father silenced with bribes. Another pattern now being repeated. Boleyn thought of the short conversation with His Majesty yet again, the one where King Henry had told him he was to be made a Knight of the Garter. He'd claimed it was for his work in preparing the French summit, but Boleyn hadn't believed it. Especially not when the King had called him back after dismissing him, and asked, far too casually, about Anne. Boleyn had made an excuse about Anne having a mild illness and thinking it best to leave court and recover, rather than making it worse.

 

He outlined all of this to Norfolk and concluded with, “To be honest, I'm not sure how or if this could be of use to us. I can't afford for her to become his mistress and then be discarded, but if he's taken a fancy to her, she could be invaluable in bringing down Wolsey. Not to mention, angering the King is not a goal of mine.” 

 

“Weren't you considering putting that blonde little stepdaughter of yours before the King?” Norfolk asked. “She's only a knight's daughter and less of a loss if things go ill. Can't you just have her try and distract him from Anne?” 

 

“I thought Jane might be able to interest the King, yes, but not now. Jane has her charms, but I wouldn't be surprised if she herself would admit that Anne is the far more noticeable of the two, with Jane almost a pale shadow to her. No, I don't think Jane could entice the King away from Anne, even if Anne does nothing to encourage him. That, so far, seems only to interest him more.” 

 

“Then don't fight the tide. Let him bed her, and trust that he won't toss her aside without helping her find a husband. I don't see why you've alerted me to this,” Norfolk advised dismissively.

 

“I alerted you,” Boleyn began icily, “because whether it's Jane or Anne, this could be useful to us in terms of denouncing Wolsey. I may not want my daughter to be the King's mistress, but if he really desires her I won't be able to do a thing about it.” He was already decided on that matter. If it came down to it, he would put it in Anne's hands. She'd caused this, somehow, so she would fix it. And... Well. A part of him was proud that his daughter, apparently without actively trying to do it, had caught the attention of the King. There had to be some way to make this all work to the family's favor, no matter how it played out. 

 

Norfolk was chuckling, a nasty smirk on his face. “Yes, that's true. The sharpest of swords are sheathed in the softest of pouches, after all.” 

 

_That's your niece, my daughter, you are talking about_ , Boleyn thought angrily. While he would not balk at using any of his children as tools for advancement, one did not need to be so crass about it.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Anne didn't want to read the letter aloud to George, but that was at least better than having him snatch it before she'd even read it. Her brother had arrived yesterday at Hever, and this morning a letter had come from court – from the King – for Anne. 

 

“'I was distressed you would not accept the brooches,'” she began, “'They were made for you, not for anyone else. And why are you not worthy when I deem you so? For certainly it must be plain to you now that I desire to find a place in your heart – '”

 

“Wait,” George said, cutting her off and standing up, crossing the distance between them. “Give it to me. 

 

Anne gave him a half-amused, half-irritated look. 

 

“Give it,” George said mock-sternly, and Anne handed it to him. Her brother read the last line under his breath until he came to the point where he'd cut her off. “'...and your grounded affection.' _Grounded_ affection?”

 

Anne rested her cheek on her closed fist, watching him. “Grounded,” she said with a nod, unable to bite back a smile when George whistled. 

 

“'Tell me at least that we can meet in private,'” her brother continued. “'I want nothing more than the chance to _talk_ to you.'” At that point he threw her a skeptical look and she could not help but agree. Talking was probably almost the farthest thing from the King's mind, though apparently he did have a romantic streak so she supposed talking would be in there somewhere. That romance, it was... She told herself it was only superficial, just like King Francis. It had to be. Still, she glared at George and stood up, meaning to take the letter away, He evaded her and kept reading. “'I beg you, come back to court, soon – ”

 

“Come, give it back, brother,” Anne demanded, holding out her hand for it. Typically, George ignored her. 

 

“'And meanwhile, accept this new gift and wear it for my sake.' What gift? And where is it?” George said, looking up from the paper. 

 

Anne sighed inwardly, pushing back her loose hair to the new necklace she wore, a jeweled cross pendant on a jeweled chain. George stared at it for a second, before finally saying, “Oh, holy Jesus.”

 

“Mm-hmm.” Anne shook her head. “Can I have that back now?” 

 

“Here,” George said, handing her the paper. “My question, though, is what are you going to do about this? I mean, Anne, you're a maiden, and not from a family low enough that throwing you at the King is to be expected. This is...” 

 

“I know. It would be preferable if it was one of our cousins, perhaps one of Uncle Edmund's girls. A family member, but of obscure enough lineage that being a mistress will bring only good, and no inconvenience. But it's not – they're all married or too young anyway, aren't they? – and it's me. To be perfectly honest, George, I've not yet decided what it is that I plan to do. If I _have_ a choice, of course.” 

 

George gave her a sympathetic look. “Well, that's the question, isn't it? You know I'm here to bring you back to court?” 

 

“Of course you are,” Anne muttered. “Well, I suppose I can't really figure this out here, can I?” 

 

“That's the Anne I know. No hiding, just make your choices and stick by them. You can do it.” 

 

“As soon as I figure out what those choices are.” 

 

~ ~ ~ 

 

This was different. Katherine knew Henry, knew how he strayed, how his attentions waned. She had lived with this tendency of his for many years, after all. But things had changed now. Never before had Henry so categorically rejected her, pulling away from even the touch of her hand. His solicitude during her nephew's visit had only made the pain of his true attitude that much worse. 

 

Her only comfort in these days was Mary, her sweet daughter. Katherine might pray for a son, but some part of her rebelled at it, even so. She knew that Mary could be all that England needed in a Queen; had she not seen her own mother, Isabella of Castile, rule a country well? Castile had been her own realm, after all, and Katherine's father, Ferdinand, had never been anything more than King Consort there. They had ruled as partners and true equals. 

 

Surely Mary could do the same. There were options. As much as Katherine trusted in her nephew, she knew that there was a chance that politics might force him to break the betrothal to Mary, to marry someone who could give him heirs immediately. Or, alternatively, Henry and Wolsey might balk, not wanting England to be absorbed into Hapsburg domains. Katherine had been raised in a family that turned matrimonial alliance into an art; she knew all of this. 

 

But there were other choices. An Englishman of sound birth, if Henry became convinced that the people would not accept a foreign-born King Consort. Or there was always Henry's nephew, the young King of Scotland, son of Henry's elder sister Mary. That marriage would be like Katherine's parents' marriage was; it would unite the kingdoms of this island the way Spain had been united under Isabella and Ferdinand. There was no need for Henry to fear, or to concern himself with his bastard son, as some whispered he would do. Mary would make a wonderful Queen, and together, Katherine and Henry could choose the right partner for their daughter. If Henry ever deigned to listen to her again, that was. 

 

Right now, her rival was one of her newest women, Anne Boleyn. She knew, because it had been one of her own favorite ladies who had done it, that Anne had received jewelry from Henry and had sent it back. Lady Anne Clifford, after doing that favor for her fellow lady-in-waiting, had immediately told Katherine. And Anne Boleyn had left court, her stepsister Jane Seymour visibly worried. Katherine wondered if her new rival was a willing one, or if Henry had been drawn to her because she was not interested in him.

 

But then, Anne was back now. Back, and wearing a necklace that even a marquess' daughter might hesitate to don on an everyday basis. Katherine suspected she knew where it came from, and if so... Well. If Lady Anne had been reluctant, apparently that was changing.

 

Not that it mattered. No courtier could take Katherine's place, not when she was Henry's wife and Queen, but a new mistress could make life more difficult. The fears she had confessed to her nephew, that Henry might seek a divorce, were still haunting her. She could not allow such a thing to happen, not only for her own place but because of Mary. She could not let Mary be cheated of her destiny.

 

She would not allow it. She was her mother's daughter and she would ride to battle bravely, whether it was on the battlefield or the more subtle, yet equally deadly field of court politics. And she was her father's daughter; she was not above using subterfuge when it became necessary. 

 

She had written a letter to Charles. Now she simply needed the opportunity to slip it to her messenger unnoticed, to avoid Wolsey's spies. Her enemies would soon learn who it was they opposed, and when they were defeated, Henry would return to her. Katherine truly believed that; she had to. 

 

~ ~ ~

 

“Where did you get that?” Tom asked Anne, seeing George pluck at the rather... elaborate necklace that their sister was wearing. Anne glanced at him and shrugged. 

 

“From the King. Didn't Jane say anything to you? About why I left? I know she spoke to Edward, he's already cornered me.”

 

“Edward said something, but you know he and I have little time for each other. We're too different, it's best that we don't spend too much time chatting together. So he wants you, hmm? Are you going to let him have you?”

 

George scowled at Tom, putting a hand on Anne's shoulder before Anne could hiss a reply. “Remember you're talking to your family, Tom, and the daughter – and sister – of a ranking peer.” 

 

“It's been a long time since you threw your earldom at me, George,” Tom said, discomfited. 

 

“It's been a long time since I needed to,” George shot back. 

 

“I can defend myself, you know,” Anne pointed out, exasperated. “And to answer your vulgar question, Tom, I don't have any idea what I'm going to do yet, exactly. But I can't figure that out at Hever, so here I am at court again.” 

 

Tom shook his head. “You have a way of making men take notice. My friend Tom Wyatt's still talking about you. You remember him from the summers at Hever, right, and then he said he met you at the French summit? He's got poetry written for you already, says you're his new muse.” 

 

Anne bit her lip, looking more than a little worried. “He shouldn't look to me for anything of that sort, not now,” she said tensely. “It could get him in more trouble than he'd imagine.” 

 

Laughing, Tom said, “Oh, you worry too much.” 

 

George narrowed his eyes. “And you take almost nothing seriously. Tell your friend Wyatt to write about someone else, if he values his livelihood, at the very least.” 

 

Really, they were far too paranoid, Tom thought dismissively. And Anne... He didn't see it. She was pretty enough, he'd grant his sister that, but he didn't see what made Anne any better than Jane, speaking with the newly-knighted Anthony Knivert on the other side of the hall, or Mary, still in the North. Or, really, most of the pretty women here.

 

Perhaps it was being related to her that made him blind to it. But the King certainly was not, Tom noticed suddenly. Anne was dancing with George and one of his friends from the King's household, Tom couldn't remember his name. And the King was watching her. Edward and Jane, he saw, were watching the King, and Jane slipped away from Knivert to speak to their older brother quietly. Tom thought about going over there, but decided that whatever they could see, he'd be able to as well. No need to rely on them. 

 

And what he saw, well, that was interesting. The King really did seem entranced. Maybe he would warn his friend Wyatt after all.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Henry sat up in bed, having once again dreamt of Anne. He'd spoken to her alone tonight, finally, felt her lips on his in reality for the first time. But all that had done was inflame him more, make him yearn to possess her more. And yet she was elusive, slipping away from him the second she saw a chance. Like mist. 

 

Just a girl, he had told Anthony and William. She was just a girl, wasn't she? He remembered her from the French summit, Boleyn's daughter who served as translator for the French king. He could even remember a sweet, dark-haired child performing with her sisters that one summer, when his progress had stopped at Wiltshire House. She was just a girl. 

 

So what was this power she had over him? Why had he been unable to forget her, from the second he'd met her eyes behind her golden mask at the pageant? He'd wanted to rip her dancing partners limb from limb until he'd been told that they were her brothers. He should have known that himself; both George Boleyn and Tom Seymour were known to him, after all. But all he had been able to see at the time was that Anne, his Anne – soon to be his, at any rate, he was determined on it – had been dancing with men who were not him. And he had been unable to stand it.

 

God, he had never felt like this before. He'd thought he'd been in love before, with Katherine during his boyhood, with Bessie Blount more recently, but... He had never understood what love really was, had he? Not until now, until Anne with her lovely eyes, her smooth neck, and the indefinable quality that was what truly drew him to her. 

 

They said that Wyatt's newest poem was about her. It was enough to make him want to strangle the poet with his bare hands, and yet... He could see how she would inspire poetry. And he had overreacted once. If Wyatt only admired her from afar, well, no harm done. She was not his anyway. She was Henry's, she would be the King's. Because the King could not live with anything less.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“Well, well, if it isn't the courtier! And here I thought you'd have no time for me, or for things like this,” Michael Stanhope teased jovially. Edward rolled his eyes at the other man, his closest – and only real – friend from his Cambridge days. 

 

“That's not likely,” he said wryly. “So, how are you, Michael? How is the law practice coming along?”

 

“Well enough. I'm still becoming established, but I have high hopes. I'm not the only one. I told you about my half-sister, Ann, right?” 

 

“Your father's only remaining legitimate child, a bit of a handful but you and she have always been close. Yes, you've talked about her at length, and all the torment you two put your hated older brother through before he died.” 

 

“He didn't die of our pranks,” Michael said blandly. “And anyway, about Ann, she's with the Princess Margaret now, on the way to Portugal. I imagine she'll marry some Portuguese noble, trading on being exotic to marry high above where she might otherwise. But still, it's interesting. And what of your sisters? How are they settling in at court?” 

 

“Well enough,” Edward said evasively. “They both have places with the Queen, and they were in the latest entertainments. Not much else just now – well, one thing. Apparently my sister   
Anne came under Marguerite of Angouleme's influence while she was in France, and now both she and George want reports of these meetings.” 

 

“Good God, Edward, do you mean to bring the faith into the heart of court? That's quite a risk you'd be taking, my friend.” 

 

“I'm not a huge gambler,” Edward agreed, “but some things are worth the chance, aren't they?” 

 

With that, the pair of them slipped into the bare meeting house, to once again listen to the German preacher with his fiery speeches. 

 

“And that is why it is to be understood that the Pope, far from being a descendent of Saint Peter, is a sinner, a hypocrite, a handmaid unto the Devil, the living Antichrist on Earth. This is what Luther teaches us, in order to free us from false worship and false idols in order that we might return to the true religion and take the true and fruitful path to salvation.”

 

Edward glanced around the room as the man spoke, and froze with shock at the sight of a familiar face. Thomas Cromwell, the new Secretary to the King. Dear God... The man had been appointed by Wolsey. Was he, then, one of the Cardinal's spies? No, not likely. He was too obvious to be a spy, with his new position. Which meant that he... He was a believer. Well. That was interesting, wasn't it? 

 

“Our message is a message of hope, of liberty of truth. It's already spreading throughout Europe, from one corner to the other. Here in England we have planted a seed that will, with prayer, with action, and perhaps, even with sacrifice, will grow one day to become a great tree whose branches will overreach the kingdom and destroy the putrid monastic houses of the Antichrist! And this tree, this tree will be called the Liberty Tree, and in its branches all the angels of the Lord will sing Alleluia.” 

 

“Alleluia,” murmured the company. As silence fell after that, Edward felt eyes on him. He glanced up to meet Thomas Cromwell's assessing gaze. Part of him wanted to look away, but he refused to bow to that. He had nothing to fear from this man. After all, they were both committing the same crime; it would be very foolish for either of them to say a word about the other.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Jane looked up when Anne came in, springing to her feet when she saw how white her sister's face was. Grabbing Anne's arm, she guided the other woman to a chair. “My God, Anne, what did Father say to you?!”

 

Anne laughed hollowly. “He left it to me,” she said quietly. “He said that protecting my virtue was my own responsibility, and failing that, it's my duty to come out of being the King's mistress as well as I can. If I do end up in his bed...” She paused, shaking her head, before rising abruptly to her feet and crossing the room to stare out of the window at the moonlit gardens below. “If I end up in his bed, I am to use my influence with him to denounce Cardinal Wolsey. Apparently Father and Uncle Norfolk want the Cardinal brought down, and they mean to use me to help that happen.” 

 

Jane was silent for a moment, horrified. “That... How can he...?”

 

“Oh, Jane,” Anne said tiredly. “For all your skill at reading people, sometimes you are still so naïve. Or maybe just an optimist. Father sees that my being the King's mistress is a potential difficulty, but that isn't as bad as losing favor with the King. That's why it's left to me, so that either way I bear the brunt of any negative consequences. It's very logical.”

 

It's also cruel, Jane thought but did not say, furious with her stepfather. How could he do this? But this was no time to rage at Thomas Boleyn. Now was the time to stand with her sister, to help Anne figure out what to do. “You're wearing the King's latest gift,” she said finally. 

 

“Yes, I am. I thought it would anger him if I refused yet again.” 

 

“You know, the Queen is watching you now too. I noticed it your first day back at court. I think she must suspect something.”

 

“Well, he's not been terribly discreet, for those who are looking,” Anne said. “I imagine the Queen looks harder than any other, to know where the latest danger to her place in her husband's heart is coming from. I have no quarrel with her, I'd prefer she didn't know about me, but it is what it is. Her husband will grow bored of me eventually, and she will have no cause to watch me further.” 

 

“Are you going to give yourself to him, Anne?” Jane asked, astonished, and worried. She didn't want to see Anne throw away her virtue and future, waste them both on a lover, even if that lover was the King. But Anne only shrugged, turning around to face Jane and looking her in the eye. 

 

“I truly don't know, Jane. I don't want to, but... I don't know what else I can do. I'll try to dissuade him, of course, tell him I am saving my virginity for my husband, but if that doesn't work I have no other plans. And the King has been... He's been sweet to me. I tell myself it's just a ruse to bed me, but I am beginning to wonder if it might be more than that, if maybe some of his claims might be true.”

 

Jane looked at her sister and saw the uncertainty in her eyes. “Well, no matter what, I'm by your side, you know that, don't you?” She didn't expect Anne to immediately tug her into a tight embrace, but it wasn't unwelcome either. Jane hugged her sister back equally tightly, stroking Anne's dark hair as though her sister were just a child. It was a comforting gesture, and it seemed to work a little, as Anne's rigid posture relaxed slightly. 

 

They would work this out, one way or another. Jane knew they would, because they had to.

 

~ ~ ~

 

There was definitely something off, Ann Stanhope decided. She couldn't say exactly what it was – or rather she could say what she thought it was, but surely not even Margaret Tudor would be that reckless. Ann had only been in the Princess' household for six weeks prior to leaving England for Portugal, but that was more than enough time to see that the Princess was high-spirited, arrogant, and rebellious. 

 

But even she wouldn't dare take a lover on the eve of her wedding, and then flaunt him before her new husband, would she? And yet how else did one explain her odd behavior onboard the ship, dismissing her women to be alone with the newly-elevated Duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon? Or the way she had danced with him last night, spinning away at the end of the dance after what had looked to be a brief but heated exchange? It was all quite unusual, not that Ann ever commented on this aloud. 

 

No, if there was one thing she knew already, it was that knowledge was power and she needed to keep all she knew or surmised to herself, waiting to when it would be of most use. At the moment, she wasn't sure what use it could be. The English party was to leave today, the Princess and her household remaining behind. So whatever dalliance she'd had with Brandon meant nothing. It had probably made it a bit less of a horror to be bedded by that old man – the consummation had sounded more like a rape than anything, really – if her maidenhood had already been taken. At least Ann assumed so. She was as yet unmarried, and couldn't really say.

 

The princess – sorry, the new Queen – had been oddly restive this morning, her movements jerky and her posture tense. Ann assumed it was because the ship was leaving today, and everyone knew how much Margaret despised this marriage. After seeing the decrepit old King, Ann could scarcely blame her. Still, it had to be good to be Queen, and if you were only one of the new Queen's English ladies, life was not so bad. Once they learned Portuguese, which they would have to do, everything would become much easier, and – 

 

Her thoughts were cut off by a bloodcurdling scream coming from the royal bedroom. The Queen had risen early, leaving her royal husband still abed, but had gone in to check on him. And she had been the one screaming. Ann and the other three ladies in the outer room ran in to find their mistress standing at the side of the bed, one hand clapped over her mouth, her expression one of horror. And it wasn't hard to see why, with the King's glazed-over eyes gazing sightlessly at the ceiling. Reflexively, all four ladies-in-waiting crossed themselves, but as Ann's hand moved in the automatic gesture, she couldn't help but see that Margaret Tudor's horror did not reach her eyes. 

 

~ ~ ~

 

Cardinal Wolsey approached the King's office with more than a little trepidation. Two brushes with death had made King Henry very unlike himself of late, silent and brooding. Wolsey wasn't sure what was going on in the young man's mind, but he was sure that it would be nothing good, and more, that he was about to find out. 

 

“I almost died,” the King said in a subdued voice. 

 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Wolsey said, at a loss for what else he could possibly say. 

 

“No, not 'Yes, Your Majesty'!” Henry shouted, leaping to his feet and slamming his hands down on the table. “I almost died, don't you understand?!” 

 

Well, at least he's sounding more like himself again, Wolsey thought. He said nothing, though, simply waiting for the King to continue, which he did, more calmly. 

 

“Since that time I've done a great deal of thinking. What if I had died? What would I have left? I have no heir. Only a daughter and a bastard son. You understand, Wolsey? The Tudor dynasty, gone. All my father's work, finished, and it's my fault!” The King stood, turning away and facing his golden instruments. 

 

“I have lived too long for pleasure. I never even thought of the future!” No, he had not, because Wolsey had been happy to direct things for him while the King enjoyed being a ruler. Oh, Henry had a facility for politics, but as yet he lacked the drive. That... seemed to be changing, and Wolsey wasn't entirely sure how to handle that. He had planned for it, yes, but this was a direction he had not foreseen. 

 

There was real anguish in the King's voice as he continued, pouring out the thoughts that had been so obviously plaguing him since his injuries. “I married my brother's wife and God has punished me. I've been such a fool.” 

 

That... was unexpected. But Wolsey had no time to react as the King turned around again, his face calm. “Now everything has changed. Everything,” he continued, crossing the distance between himself and Wolsey. He was utterly composed, and the Cardinal felt a flash of uncertainty, almost fear. He had a feeling that whatever the King was going to say, it was truly going to change everything, just as he said. And that was not necessarily something Wolsey wanted. He disliked Katherine, yes, but he didn't see what could reasonably be done. 

 

“I want a divorce. And you will get one for me.”

 


	8. Let The Dice Fly High

The ship's rocking was almost familiar to Margaret now, almost soothing. It would have been more so if she could quiet her mind, but she could not. She didn't regret what she had done, but... But... “Do you think they were suspicious?” she asked Charles, who was dozing beside her. 

“Of course they were suspicious,” he said dismissively. “Didn't you see the way his servants looked at you? But his son was overjoyed. I mean, His Majesty was overjoyed. He had waited long years for the throne. But the old man held on, grimly.” 

Margaret turned away to face the wall. “You need not tell me about that,” she said, not quite suppressing a shudder. She stared at the worn grain of the ship's hull, wishing that she could stop thinking, but she could not. She had wrung a promise from Henry, but what if he chose not to honor it? What if he realized what she had done? What if...? “What are we going to do?” she said, her voice pained. 

“Isn't this enough?” Charles sounded frustrated, and Margaret rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “No. Yes.” It was both more than enough and not nearly all that was needed. “But we shall come to England eventually.” 

That was the heart of the matter. Now, in the cabin on the ship, they were in their own private world. Oh, it was certain that her ladies, and perhaps a few of the sharper-eyed sailors, suspected something, but overall this was a world where only she and Charles existed. But that would not last much longer.

She was brought out of her thoughts by Charles' voice. “Marry me.” 

“What?” she asked, astonished. She rolled over, rising up on one elbow to look down at his face.

“You heard me. Marry me.” 

She stared at him for a moment longer before closing the slight distance to kiss him passionately. She had not dared to admit that she'd wanted that, had hoped for it ever since she dared to call him out with the words “Because you love me.” But she hadn't honestly expected it. Not from Brandon, not from her brother's friend, a man who managed to finagle his way into more beds than even Henry did. 

But he'd asked her. If Henry honored his promise, then all would be well, wouldn't it?

~ ~ ~

Henry Fitzroy hadn't understood much of the ceremony that had made him a duke twice over. He knew that his fancy cape was hot and heavy, but that he liked the cap that had been put on his head, and he loved the small sword he'd been given to wear. It was too bad that Mama would not let him slay dragons in the gardens with it; she made him use his wooden toy sword even though he told he needed a real one to make sure the dragons were really defeated.

He had also known that the man who gave him the cap, who lifted him up and sat him on a big chair, was his father the King. He was the King's son, and that made him a very special little boy. Because he was a special boy, he was to be given his own house. Henry would have liked that when he was told, because he liked being special, except they said that Mama could not go with him. That must be why she's crying, he thought sadly as she hugged him. He didn't like it when his mama cried.

She curtsied to him and said “Your Grace,” but that wasn't right. She shouldn't have to curtsey to him, she was his mama and even though other people did that now he never wanted her to! 

“Mama!” he said, running toward her and, as he'd expected, feeling her wrap her arms around him. He clung to her, because he knew this was going to be good-bye for a while.

When she set him on his feet again, she held his hands and looked into his eyes. “Now, Henry, listen to me. You're going to own your own house now. You'll have lots of servants to help you and to look after you. You must promise to be a good boy, kind and thoughtful to those around you. You may be set above them, but if I find you've grown too proud, I shall be sad and displeased.”

“Yes, Mama, I promise,” Henry said, wanting to make his mama's tears go away. He was a big boy, she didn't need to worry about him. He would miss her but he would be all right.

“I promise I'll come see you as often as I can. And I'm sure your new house will be very grand.” She hugged him again tightly. “Oh, I love you, my darling boy. I love you.” 

“Don't cry, Mama, it will be all right,” Henry said. “I promise.” 

~ ~ ~

It had been years since Mary had lived at Hever, but she'd convinced Hal, his father, and her own father that it was the best place for them to set up the children’s nursery, and so she was there to visit her son. James, Jamie, was eight months old now, bright-eyed and babbling. She hadn't expected Anne to be there, but a quick explanation from her sister told her all she needed to know.

Years ago, Mary had caught the eye of the King of France. That had led to an abrupt departure from the French court, since her father hadn't trusted her not to give in. She'd been young at the time, so she understood, more or less, why he'd been so worried. Now it was Anne and the King of England, though, and while her father had been willing to risk the annoyance of Francis, Henry was a different matter. So Anne was left to shift for herself, to try and evade the King while taking care not to anger him. 

But with what Mary was hearing from behind the nursery door, that wasn't working so well.

“Anne,” the King was saying, “I have something to say to you. If it pleases you to be my true, loyal mistress and friend, to give yourself up to me body and soul, I promise, I'll take you as my only mistress. I won't have a thought or affection for anyone else. If you agree to be my maitresse en titre, I promise, I will serve only you.”

That, Mary knew, was not what Anne was hoping for. She didn't know exactly what it was that her sister wanted, but to be even a king's principal mistress was not it. In Anne's place, Mary might have taken it; it wasn't a bad deal and she didn't mind the thought of having to marry a man of a lower rank than might have been hoped, as long as she did get to marry and have a family. She was happy with Hal, but she knew she could probably have been happy with any man who would be a kind husband and good father. But Mary was not Anne, and her little sister had always just been... different. 

“Maitresse en titre?” Anne repeated in a hollow voice that was never a good sign. “Your official mistress?” 

“Yes. And you will have everything you need, everything that is within my power to give you, it's yours, just ask.” Silence for a moment, and then the King said in a worried voice, “What is it?”

“What have I done for you to treat me like this?” Anne asked, and Mary, behind the door, winced. Sometimes Anne was too forthright for her own good, truly.

“Done? What fault have I committed, tell me! Tell me!”

“I have already given my maidenhead into my husband's keeping. And whoever he is – ” Anne was cut off by a frustrated sound from the King, but gamely kept on. “Whoever he is, only he will have it.” 

“Oh, Anne.” The King sounded annoyed rather than upset now, which was not a good sign at all. Mary held her breath, waiting for what Anne would say next.

“Because I know how it goes otherwise. I lived at the French court, I saw friends taken up as mistresses and then discarded. It broke their spirits and ruined their reputations forever.” 

Silence, then: “I'm sorry if I offended you.” The King's voice was tight, with pain or anger Mary couldn't tell. “I did not mean to. I spoke plainly of my true feelings.” Heavy footsteps signaled his quick departure. 

“Your Majesty!” Anne called, but her only answer was a slamming door. Cautiously, Mary stepped into the hall. 

“That went well.” 

Anne spun around to glare at her sister. “Thank you, Mary, for that astute observation.” 

Mary rolled her eyes. “Don't take out your troubles on me. Maybe you should have taken the offer. I mean, I'm sure that if he does tire of you, after having you as official mistress he'd consider it his duty to find you a match as or nearly as good what Father can if you remain a virgin. And anyway, he might not; he certainly seems to be in love with you.” 

“Or he thinks he is,” Anne contradicted. “And even if he never tired of me, and I was unofficial Queen for the rest of my days, what about any children I have? I know he's made his bastard by Bessie Blount Duke of Richmond and Somerset, but... How many titles can he hand out to bastard sons? He'd need to be careful, or his bastards by me, little Fitzroy, and Princess Mary could cause a new War of the Roses. I think he'd realize that, and then where would my children be?”

Mary thought of her Jamie, secure as Hal's heir, and understood where her sister was coming from. “All right, that makes sense. But Anne, you can only play this game for so long. Eventually you will have to give him some kind of final answer. Do you know what you're going to do?”

Anne gave her an unreadable look but didn't answer.

~ ~ ~

“I just finished telling you only a few weeks ago that you work too hard, and here you are at it again! Thomas, I'm sick of watching you dig yourself into the grave. What is so important that you have to still be awake at midnight?” 

Wolsey hesitated, but then put his papers aside, turning to look at Joan. “The King has asked for something... complex,” he said finally. “Something that, if he gets it, could turn the court upside-down.” And possibly the country. The people loved Katherine, for some reason, and even if the annulment was granted as easily as Wolsey hoped and Henry demanded, there would be a backlash. If things did not go so easily, well... That would be a much bigger problem, for him personally.

“He should do some of the work himsef and not push it all off on you. I know you like the power and the control, but I like you alive and healthy. It's not worth it.” 

Wolsey undressed and climbed into bed beside her, knowing that she was right about him needing to rest at least. “He wants to set the Queen aside,” he said into his pillow. It was not the first time he'd shared secrets with Joan; she was the only one he trusted implicitly. “I have no love for her, and she despises me, but her nephew is powerful, and I don't know if I can bring this about as easily as the King wishes.” 

There. He had said it. Tomorrow he would shelve all his doubts, pretend that they did not exist, but here, now, with only Joan to hear, he could give voice to them. This was why she was still with him, more a wife than a mistress. He could trust her, and he cared about her, and he knew she cared for him. Which was why he could admit to her that he wasn't sure he could do this.

“But you can't just tell him that, can you?” Joan asked, going right to the heart of the matter. 

“No, I can't. Even with all I've done, if I fail now, that will erase it all in the King's mind.” 

“You should leave now. Feign illness, whatever you have to. You are the Archbishop of York, you should go to York and escape this before it comes crashing down on your head. I know you, Thomas. You have never before admitted that something might be beyond you, only that it is much harder than you make it look. If you aren't sure... Don't risk failure.” Joan's voice was a little unsteady, but her tone was firm for all that. She meant it, she truly wanted him to do what she was suggesting.

And for a moment it was tempting. He might still have time to do it; if it came to it he could even admit that he felt the annulment was beyond him and step down so someone else, someone who could do it, might take his place. The King would likely grant him a retirement if he played it right. He could do as Joan asked of him. 

He could, but he wouldn't. He could not retreat now. It wasn't in him to give up all he'd worked so hard to grasp. “I can't do that, Joan, and you know that.” 

“You won't,” she disagreed. “I should leave you to it, you're so determined to rise until all you can do is fall. But I love you, so I can't do that either.” 

“I love you too, you know that, Joan.”

“Then listen to me!” Joan sat up, looking down at him pleadingly.

“You know I can't. This is the life I'm meant for, even if it ends in my ruin.” He truly believed that, could not imagine another life. Well, no, that was not entirely true. He could not imagine following in his father's footsteps, but he could have become a tutor or a lawyer with his education. A man who could have married Joan, raised their children himself. He could imagine it, and sometimes he wished he had done it. But he hadn't, and all he could do was continue on the path he had chosen, whatever it meant.

Joan sighed, lying down again and resting her head on his chest. “I know. I know. But please, if it goes too far, pull back.” 

Wolsey said nothing. They both knew he was incapable of doing that.

~ ~ ~

Jane was walking the Queen's dog in one of the gardens when she saw Sir Anthony Knivert waving to her. She and Anthony had struck up a friendship since they were paired together in the dance, finding that they had a lot in common. He was the quiet one among the King's friends, just as she was with her siblings, and both of them tended to listen and watch more than they spoke. It was a pleasure to talk to someone else who understood that.

“You look a bit upset, Anthony,” Jane commented when she reached him. “Is everything all right?”

“For me, yes, but my idiot friend might be a head shorter soon.” 

Jane frowned. “What? Compton? Or... Surely not Suffolk?”

Anthony smiled wryly. “Oh, it's Charles, all right. You didn't hear yet? I thought it would be all over the court, since the King spoke to his sister today.” 

“I've been with the Queen all day until now, she was in the chapel until an hour ago.” Jane was religious, and she had spent most of her time in France with the devout Queen Claude, but... Queen Claude, despite the deformity that kept her from participating in many of the court events, such as dancing, had taken a real pleasure in watching and in encouraging others to enjoy themselves. She found solace and strength in religion, but did not use it to hide herself away. Perhaps she was being unfair, but Jane thought that Queen Katherine did, and it made her miss Claude's service sometimes.

Anthony leaned back against the trunk of the tree they stood under. “Well, brace yourself. You know that Charles was to escort Princess Margaret to Lisbon? And you heard that the King of Portugal died only days after the marriage?”

“Yes, of course. People have been making comments about it since the news broke; they wondered if the Princess was too young and healthy for him.” That was the polite version of what they were saying. Jane wasn't particularly bothered by it, not after years in France, but neither did she think it bore repeating. “What's happened now?”

Anthony shook his head. “She and Charles are married.” 

“What?” Jane said, floored. He couldn't be serious. She didn't know Brandon except by sight and reputation, but surely even he wasn't that much of a fool. “You're joking.” 

“I wish I were. They got back to England and Charles contacted William, talked him into telling the King. As I'm sure you can imagine, he's furious. They're both banished from court, and he may yet decide to have Charles arrested and executed. It's a mess.” 

Jane shook her head. “Surely the King will forgive them eventually. I mean, Princess Margaret is his sister, I can't imagine... I can't imagine anything that would make me unable to ever forgive my siblings.” 

“You might be right, but the rules seem different for Kings. I'm just still in shock, myself. I never thought Charles would be this stupid.”

They spoke for a bit longer before Jane had to go inside again, but she'd only just slipped through the door when someone caught her elbow. “You and Tony Knivert?” George wanted to know, his voice teasing. 

“No, George. My God, can't a man and woman be friends in this court? He was telling me about Brandon and the Princess, if you must know.” 

“Oh,” George said. “An awkward business, that. But I still don't see why you and Sir Anthony were talking privately outdoors like that. Just exchanging news, really?” 

“Yes, really. Not everyone is obsessed with flirtation like some people I could name,” Jane said, poking him in the chest before spinning around and walking off, not giving him a chance to reply.

~ ~ ~

Mary Tudor was young, but she wasn't stupid. In fact, for a child of her age she was quite perceptive, having grown up among adults at court. And she knew that something wasn't quite right. For one thing, her papa didn't come to visit anymore. He hadn't come that often to begin with, but she hadn't really seen him since not long after the Emperor left. Lady Salisbury said he was just busy and she hadn't done anything wrong, but it was still odd. 

And then there was Mama. Mary's Mama was always happy with her, smiling and gentle, but lately Mary had started noticing that even when her mother smiled her eyes were sad. Even when she wasn't sad at all, something happened to make her sad. Like the day when they'd been playing in the gardens, before Cardinal Wolsey interrupted them. Mary didn't know the Cardinal, really, although he was her godfather, but she thought she could see that he and Mama didn't like each other very much at all. She didn't ask why, though, because she had a feeling she wasn't supposed to notice any of this.

Now she had to leave court. She was going to Ludlow Castle in Wales, where her mother had lived with her late Uncle Arthur, years and years before Mary was born, when her grandfather was still King and her father was only the Duke of York and the second son. It was the traditional home of the future rulers of England, her Lady Governess told her, and if anyone would know, Lady Salisbury would. She was the niece of Edward IV, after all, and besides, her husband had been steward of Ludlow when Mary's uncle and mother lived there. 

So it was a good thing, because it meant Mary would be learning how to rule. Her mother always said she would be Queen of England one day, like her grandmother was Queen of Spain. That had to be true because her mother wouldn't lie to her, and so Mary knew she had to start learning. But she didn't want to leave her Mama. 

As the carriage rolled away from the palace, the court that had been her home for as long as she could remember, Mary bit her lip and held her head high so that she wouldn't cry. Lady Salisbury, who had once been all but a princess herself, daughter of a royal duke and niece to two successive kings, placed a sympathetic hand on her young charge's shoulder, but Mary shrugged it off. If she was comforted she would cry, and princesses did not cry. They did their duty and stayed true to who they were and to what they knew was their destiny. This was hers, and she wasn't going to cry.

~ ~ ~

Anne picked up the golden ship, studying it carefully. It was exactly what she had sent to the goldsmith for, while she stayed at Ormonde House, the family's London home. She'd decided to remain away from court for a while longer, letting the King's ire – and perhaps his ardor – cool, but then the letter had come. 

It sat on the table next to her hand, looking innocuous, but it was not. The words written on that page could change the world. For her, and for so many others. Because that letter contained a marriage proposal for her – from the King of England.

Anne's response was in her hand. A ship, for protection. A storm-tossed maiden, that was her. And a diamond, for a true and unchanging heart. It was her way of saying yes, if the King was able to understand it. Even if he didn't, it would be enough of an encouragement for him to ask her what she meant, and then she could tell him. She knew she ought to tell her father before doing this, but he had left this in her hands. So if he was angry later, it was only his own fault. Not that she would say so, as there would be no point to that, but it would be true. 

“What is that for?” a voice said from behind her. Anne jumped, dropping the ship onto the table. 

“Edward! Shouldn't you be at court?” 

“I was visiting my friend Michael Stanhope, from Cambridge. His sister was with the Princess Margaret in Portugal, we were discussing what had happened.” 

“You were gossiping with a woman? Edward, I'm shocked!” Anne laughed.

Edward gave her a withering look. “I was talking of recent news with my friend and his sister. You see flirtation everywhere, you're as bad as George.” 

“Clearly, someone being the sister of one's friend means little; look at Brandon!”

“Oh, because that's a fair comparison. Thank you for that, I so enjoy being insulted by my own family,” Edward said dryly. “Now don't change the subject. What is that ship for?”

“I'm sending it to the King.” 

“Is that wise?” 

Anne scowled. “Would I be sending it if I didn't think so? It's because of this.” She handed him the letter, watching his eyes flick from side to side as he read it quickly. She knew the second he got to the main point of the letter, because his eyes widened. 

“Good Lord. And you think he means this? Everyone knows that the Queen is out of favor, but...” He stopped suddenly, an odd look crossing his face.

“What?” 

“I... There's a rumor, about the top prelates in England meeting to discuss... something. No one seems to know what, but an annulment would certainly explain both the conclave and the secrecy. But Anne, are you sure this isn't just a trick for you to allow him into your bed?”

Anne had considered that, it seemed a possibility. “If so, he'll be disappointed. I'm not bedding him until there's a ring on my finger.” 

Edward raised an eyebrow. “Daring of you.” He picked up the ship and gave it a once-over. “Nice symbolism. So you'll send it to him, and then what? Wait for the Queen's retirement and for the annulment to go through?” 

“I don't see what else I can do.” Anne took the ship back and slipped it into a velvet pouch. “I can't believe he would offer this to me, but I'd be a fool to refuse him now.” 

That was true. And yet Anne did feel a moment of uncertainty as she sent the messenger off with her reply. What was she doing? The King was married, and if he couldn't get his annulment, what would happen to her? It was the greatest chance she had ever taken, but in the end it was what she had to do. Somehow, she knew that.


	9. With The Changing Wind

Slowly, Katherine pushed herself up from the floor, taking deep breaths to calm herself. She could not fall apart, not now. After all, it wasn't as though this came completely as a surprise. She had suspected for sometime that Henry was questioning the validity of their marriage, and while she had prayed that he would see reason, clearly he had not. She was convinced that Wolsey had a hand in this, somehow, but he had gambled unwisely this time. 

 

Katherine's nephew, the Emperor, was the most powerful monarch in Christendom. And he had sworn to come to her aid whenever she needed it. She'd already sent him a letter telling him of the King's ever-fading interest in her, and now, well, she would have to send another message. She might be heartbroken but her spirit, her will was still intact, and she would not let Henry do this to her. She was his Queen, she would be until the day one of them died, and their daughter Mary was his heir. 

 

Oh, Katherine knew about Matilda, the would-be Queen all England pointed to as the reason why women should not rule. But she had learned enough about that period, when she realized that Mary was likely to be her only child, to be able to refute that. Matilda had not lost her crown because she was female, though Katherine would admit that her sex had left her in a weakened position. But Matilda's real failing had been her insufferable arrogance and her sheer ineptitude. Mary was a good girl, who would grow up to be proud of who she was but not too much so, if Katherine had any say. And when she was not there herself, she trusted Lady Salisbury, her old friend and once all but a princess herself, to know how to strike that balance.

 

Mary would have the right temperament and the right education, and the example of her grandmother to follow. There was nothing to prevent her being a good Queen, except Henry's own fears. And those were foolish, the fears of a boy, which in some ways Henry still was. Katherine knew Henry, she'd known him since she was ten years old. Arthur, she remembered, had both envied his brother's easy confidence and been irritated by it; her first husband had been a quiet, scholarly boy, though kind to her. 

 

It crossed her mind that Arthur would never have done something like this; his sense of fairness had been too keen. But she pushed the thought away. Arthur had never fully known her carnally; they had both tried, but unsure of what exactly to do they had not managed it. Even so, Katherine had been half in love with her first husband when he died, only to fall utterly in love with the younger Tudor brother when he had rescued her from a life of discomfort and poverty. She must not wonder now how things would have been different with Arthur as her husband and King; she had to contend with the husband she had. With Henry, led astray by Wolsey and possibly others. 

 

Did he have a new wife in mind? There was Anne Boleyn, yes, but though her pedigree was good for an English noblewoman, and better than Henry's own grandmother's in some ways, surely he could not be considering putting aside a Spanish Infanta for one of his own subjects? No, he must have another royal in mind, though she could not think who. It didn't matter, as such, because he would not get the annulment he sought, but to know her likely replacement would still be a useful bit of information.

 

It was not a necessary detail, though. Not at the moment. For now she had to come up with a way to evade Wolsey's spies. The only thing she could think of was the ambassador, Mendoza. He was loyal to her, she knew, and would find a way to get her message to the Emperor. It was all she could do now.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Anne smoothed her skirts, feeling unusually nervous. The King was coming to see her today, having gotten her message. She was still a bit unsure she'd made the right decision, but she still believed she could not have done anything else. The King wanted her, and he was offering marriage. She'd be a fool to refuse him, even if this was risky. 

 

Once, she would have hated herself for such coldness. As a little girl, or even the half-grown woman in France, she would have wondered if the King loved her, and if she loved him. She knew the King was in love with her, she had finally come to believe he meant his passionate words. As for herself... She didn't know. She hadn't liked or appreciated his attentions at first. Oh, she'd been flattered, yes, but aside from that she hadn't wanted his interest; there were too many complications. But the way he spoke to her, the way he looked at her... It made her heartbeat speed up now, it caught her breath in her throat. She didn't think it was love, not yet, but it was certainly not indifference or disinterest now. 

 

It meant she had to be even more careful to think clearly. Passion could cloud her mind, and right now she couldn't risk that. Not when everything depended on her keeping a cool head and not losing herself to her emotions. Everything was going to be on the line, she understood that. She didn't think that Katherine would simply accept the annulment quietly; the older woman was clearly strong-willed, and would probably muster all her resources the second she found out what was going on. Anne didn't believe for a second that Henry would be able to hide what he was doing from Katherine long enough to make it a _fait accompli_ before she even knew. Courts didn't keep secrets well. She had to be ready to hold out for at least a few months, maybe even a year if it was particularly complicated. Anne didn't think it would be any longer than that, but that was quite long enough. 

 

Her thoughts were cut short when the door banged open. She had chosen to receive Henry in her bedchamber, and though her stepmother and Jane had looked at her askance, she'd shown them the letter. Edward was back at court and probably had told her father already, but she'd not heard anything from him yet. So she'd made the choice to have Henry come here. 

 

She rose from her chair when he came in, dropping into a graceful curtsey. Without hesitation, Henry crossed the distance between them, pulling her upright and drawing her into his arms, his mouth closing passionately over hers. The kiss was long and heated, and Anne felt herself melting into it, had to force a part of her mind to stay distant and alert.

 

When they broke apart, he still held her close to him, one hand coming up to cup her chin. “A ship, for protection, and a diamond for an unchanging heart. You say yes, sweetheart?” His eyes were hopeful, not demanding like she'd expect a king to be. It made her smile all the more genuine as she nodded. 

 

“I do accept, Your Majesty,” she whispered, breathing the words against his lips before she kissed him, instigating their kiss as she rarely did, thinking it wiser, usually, to let him lead. She didn't even freeze when he began to move them back toward the bed, or even when he bore down until she was lying on her back across the soft mattress. 

 

Anne knew she ought to protest, especially when she found herself in nothing but her shift, her dress in a velvet pile on the floor, but Henry was pressing kisses to her neck and breasts, and it was all she could do not to push him to continue. “My lady,” he whispered into her ear. “I lay claim to your maidenhead.” 

 

Catching her breath, Anne replied, “I make you this promise. When we are married, I will deliver you a son.” 

 

The words seemed to inflame Henry's passion, his hands and mouth seemingly almost everywhere at once. Anne's mind spun with desire and she almost forgot why she should not give in now, but then it was Henry who pulled back, both of them panting as her hand stroked the back of his head, a loving gesture that for once had no calculation or caution in it. “No,” he breathed. “I shall honor your maidenhead, until we are married. No less could I do for love.”

 

“Oh my love,” Anne whispered, and wondered if it was true. “By daily proof you shall me find, to be to you both loving and kind.” They kissed briefly once more before Henry seemed almost to have to force himself away, fleeing the room before his resolve faded. Anne watched him go, her heart racing and her breath still coming fast. And she wondered if she was really falling in love with Henry, or if she had already fallen and simply didn't know it. 

 

~ ~ ~

 

God. Brandon really had been saying nothing but the truth when he'd told William that he didn't always think, hadn't he? It had seemed the perfect solution on board the ship, to ask Margaret to marry him. He was sure that the two of them could brazen it out, that the love Henry bore them both would protect them. And who knew, perhaps it had. Perhaps if he had been anyone but the King's oldest and closest friend, his head would be on a spike now. There was no way to know. 

 

But he and Margaret were still banished from court indefinitely. And she blamed him for it, as though she had not been the one to ensure they were alone, that first time, as though she had not been the one to push for something more than what they'd been. But no, he couldn't blame it on Margaret that way. For one thing, he was a grown man and made his own decisions, and for another... 

 

He loved her. It surprised him, but he did. Her fire and passion were fascinating, except when her fury was turned against him. It was the drinking. If he could get her to stop that, he was sure things would be fine between them again. But he knew why she drank, it was why he spent hours riding his lands, pushing his horse to its limit. She was trying to forget how things had gone so horribly wrong, already.

 

They should have waited. God knew Margaret's brief marriage had been a horror; he still remembered that consummation, how much like rape it had sounded and how he had wanted to kill the decrepit old King himself. Surely Margaret could have played on Henry's sympathies, and convinced him to allow the marriage? And why had he not thought of that before their impulsive, secret wedding? 

 

Brandon knew one thing, though. His marriage was already falling apart, because of this exile. He didn't want that. He wanted this to work; they'd already risked so much to just let things continue as they were without even trying to figure out how to make it all work after all. It was the banishment from court, it had to be. If they could get back, somehow, everything would be all right.

 

For now he would deal with Margaret's screams and tears, her throwing things at him and luckily missing more than not because her aim was so poor. The sex that almost inevitably followed these arguments was intense and rough, and they both enjoyed it, but there hadn't always been a need for it. Brandon shocked himself by regretting that they were losing what they'd risked everything for already. 

 

They just had to get back to court and it would come right. Somehow.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Sometimes Anthony felt like the only sane one among his friends, usually because the other three, the King among them, were engaged in new bouts of mischief or womanizing. Anthony was no saint, and had his share of lovers, but he'd always been more comfortable acting with discretion. And he could honestly say he'd never lost his head over anything or anyone. The closest he'd come was his jealousy over Charles' elevation, but that was understandable. 

 

Now he felt even more like the only one with a lick of sense. Charles had married Henry's sister, for God's sake, and should be counted lucky to have kept his head, never mind his title, which he also still held. He was just banished from court and ordered to pay a heavy fine. But he hadn't known Henry would be so lenient; he'd courted death for this passion. 

 

And he wasn't the only one. Anthony didn't want to think about what he'd seen in that darkened corridor, William kissing the musician Thomas Tallis passionately. His best friend, more so than even Charles or Henry, as he and William had known each other since their toddler years, was a sodomite. By all rights, Anthony should turn him in. But he couldn't bear to. Not his friend, the boy he'd learned to ride a pony with, long before either of them had dared to do more than dream of galloping toward an opponent in the joust.

 

He could do nothing for William except hold his tongue. And that he would do, for the sake of friendship. He would never tell a soul, even William, what he'd seen. But then there was Henry. Anthony knew his friend's ways, had seen the King look at Anne Boleyn. And Anthony's own friend, Jane, Anne's stepsister, hadn't spoken of it but he could tell she knew something. 

 

So he partnered her in a dance that night, eyes uncharacteristically sober. “Jane, I want to speak with you about your sister.”

 

“Anne? What about her?” 

 

“The King's in love with her, isn't he?” 

 

Jane's eyes narrowed, but she didn't try to pull away, obviously realizing that doing so would draw undue attention to them. “Why do you think you have the right to know that?” she said, her voice sharp. “We may be friends, Sir Anthony, but Anne is my sister.” 

 

“The King has been one of my closest friends for years,” Anthony said heatedly. “All of my friends are losing themselves for love, one way or another. All I want to know from you is if she's worth it. I want to know if my friend and King is giving his heart to someone who will break it.” 

 

Jane scowled. “I'm more worried that he might break her. Anne has no power.” 

 

“She has power over him. Jane, please. I meant no offense. I'm just worried about my friend.” 

 

Jane twirled away from him, eyes still hard. “And I'm worried about my sister, because I think she is falling in love with him, and if he changes his mind... You don't know Anne. If she falls, completely, then she will love him completely. Forever. And the King has proven he is not that constant. Are you sure you should be worrying about him?”

 

Anthony meant to reply angrily to that, but... He remembered what Thomas More had said about how the King would cut off his head if it would get him something he wanted, and the sorrow in Queen Katherine's eyes. He couldn't argue with Jane, really, could he? He would like to, but he found that he could think of nothing valid to contradict her with.

 

~ ~ ~ 

 

Margery very rarely confronted her husband, thinking it best not to court trouble by doing so. But now she had to speak. She wasn't entirely clear as to what was going on – she'd left court last year because of a weakening heart, and even in the London house she was out of touch with things, but this... This was going too far. 

 

“Thomas, did you push Anne at the King?” She doubted it, if anything she would have expected him to use her Jane that way, which would have infuriated her, but she could not have stopped him. And her sons wouldn't have tried.

 

Her husband shot her a disdainful look. “Do you think I would, Margery?” 

 

“If you thought it could earn you some advantage that trading Anne's virginity and value as a bride was worth it, then yes,” she said evenly, because it was true. 

 

“Perhaps you're right, but no, I did not. She claims the King was drawn to her with no effort on her part. But I am certainly not complaining of the results. My daughter will be Queen of England, and we will be the royal family when she gives King Henry a son and heir. You should be rejoicing, my dear.” 

 

She didn't like it when he used endearments, because he didn't mean them. It wasn't that Margery loved her husband, he was too cold for that, but... She was fond of him, after a fashion. And the false coin of such pretended affection hurt. “I'm not so sure the King will be able to set Queen Katherine aside,” she commented.

 

“It will be an easy matter. If nothing else, he can just have her sent to a nunnery,” Thomas said dismissively. Margery raised her eyebrows. 

 

“And what if she refuses to go?”

 

“She wouldn't dare disobey the King.” 

 

Margery would normally have agreed with that, except that if Anne was to be believed, King Henry thought his marriage was invalid due to the fact that Katherine of Aragon had first been married to Arthur Tudor, the late Prince of Wales. If the King got his way, among other effects, his daughter by Katherine, Princess Mary, would be declared illegitimate. A mother might dare anything for her child. 

 

“You do remember Flodden Field, don't you? Katherine is no meek child, she's a Queen who is the daughter of a warrior Queen,” she said mildly. 

 

“My brother-in-law won Flodden, Katherine merely brought backup troops that were unnecessary. And in any case, she was a young, spirited girl then. Now she's an old woman who closets herself up and wears out her rosary beads.”

 

Margery inclined her head, giving all appearance of agreement. Personally, she felt her husband was far too dismissive of a woman who had been born on a battle march, and raised by parents who were both crusaders. Not to mention, Katherine was intelligent, Margery had seen that very clearly during the years she had served as one of the Queen's ladies. She would know how to use her resources – the love of the people and the support of the Emperor – to help her. 

 

Which left Margery terrified for her stepdaughter. Anne was taking a terrible risk, made even worse by the fact that she seemed to be losing her heart to the handsome, charming King. But what would happen to her should it all fall apart?

 

~ ~ ~

 

“Anne, do you love him?” Jane asked, breaking the tense silence that had held sway in the room. She and Anne were waiting in the bedchamber they shared at court for their siblings to arrive. Even Mary was coming, she and her husband having just returned after the death of Hal's father, leaving the couple as the Earl and Countess of Northumberland. Anne didn't say why she wanted all of them to meet here tonight, though Jane suspected she knew already. 

 

It had to be the marriage proposal. Edward had been at the house when Anne had received it, and Jane had been here when the King came. Between the two of them, they'd told their brothers and sister, though no one else, save their parents of course.

 

Anne was silent, toying with her necklace – one the King had given her, Jane noted with some real concern. Finally, her sister said, “I'm not sure. I think that I... that I could love him, and that I am growing to care for him. But I've not lost my heart completely.” 

 

“Do you think that you will?”

 

Anne turned away, walking to her window and staring out into the night. “I don't know, Jane. I know I shouldn't, but he's been so wonderful to me. And he loves me, I'm sure of it. How can I not love him in return?”

 

The door opened, effectively cutting off any real conversation. George, Mary, Edward, and Thomas filed in, Mary and George sitting together on the bed, on the other side from where Jane herself sat, while Tom took a chair, slouching carelessly. Edward didn't bother to sit, leaning against the wall by the door instead with his arms folded. 

 

“Anne, what's this about?” Mary said, looking worried. “Jane said the most insane thing, that the King proposed marriage to you!” 

 

“Oh, it's not insane,” Edward commented. “I saw the letter where he wrote it.” 

 

“Thank you, Ned, but I can speak for myself,” Anne said sharply. “In any case, he has proposed, and I've accepted.” 

 

“I've just got a little question,” Tom said with a raised eyebrow. “What's he going to do about the Queen?” 

 

“Annulment or a nunnery, probably,” George said, lying back across the bed so that his head was next to Jane. “Hello, sister,” he said cheerfully.” 

 

Jane poked him in the chest, rolling his eyes. “Haven't you grown up yet, George?” she teased. Sobering, she looked at Anne. “You know, Tom's right to ask that. Do you really think the Queen will go easily?” 

 

“Will she have a choice?” George pointed out. “I mean, if the King orders her, what exactly can she do?”

 

“If the King gets his annulment, she won't fight it,” Edward said. “She's too devout a Catholic to defy the Pope.” A muscle in his jaw twitched when he brought up the Pope, and Jane frowned. She knew quite well that Anne, George, and Edward were all interested in the reformed faith, and she worried for them. It could get them into a lot of trouble if the wrong people found out.

 

“However it happens, it's happening,” Anne cut off the conversation sharply. “That's not... That's not the point of this conversation.” 

 

“Then what is? Anne, why are we all here?” Jane pressed. Anne looked at the floor, and then back up, pale eyes worried. 

 

“I'm going to make enemies,” she said quietly. “It's worth it, but I will. But I... I need to know that if there's no one else, that I have the five of you. There isn't anyone else I can trust entirely, even Henry. I know he can be fickle, so I can never let myself trust in him completely. Please, I need to know that you'll stand with me. Boys, I know you have your own careers to worry about, and Mary, I know your first loyalty has to be with Hal now, but... I...” 

 

“Of course we're with you!” Jane said firmly, getting up and hugging her sister tightly. “Or, well, I can only speak for myself, but I'll always be here,” she said. She glanced at the others, who were nodding their agreement. 

 

Anne relaxed in Jane's hold, her stiff posture giving way. “Then I can do this. I just needed to know I had you on my side, because God knows I won't have many others.” 

 

Jane was tempted to ask if it really would be worth it, even to wear the Queen's crown, but she held her tongue. She had a feeling she was the only one who thought it might not be, so bringing it up wouldn't help any of them. Standing together would, and that was what they would do. For Jane at least there was no question, and looking at her siblings she knew there wasn't one for them either. In any case, they had little choice. They would rise or fall together anyway, so they might as well band together, even if some of them were unsure about it. 

 

Jane believed they could reach the heights they were trying for, or at least that they had a sporting chance. But what she kept to herself, as her siblings kept talking and speculating, was the niggling feeling that even if they did, they would regret it.


	10. Devil Take The Hindmost

George leaned against the wall, chatting idly with William Compton as he watched the dancing. Compton was an odd one, he took up with women from time to time but he wasn't nearly the flirt that his friends Brandon and the King were. Even Knivert was known for spending more time with the ladies than Compton. But George liked talking to him, the two of them usually trading sarcastic comments about the older circle of courtiers. 

 

“Your sister and the King are growing closer, I see,” Compton said, watching Anne dancing with the King. “What exactly is going on there? Usually Tony and I would know if he had taken a new mistress, but this time...” 

 

“Nice try, Compton,” George said, and he might have said more except a commotion at the door stopped him.

 

“Make way, I have most important news,” the messenger called, and when the guards barred his way he called over their spears, “Majesty! Rome has been sacked!” A shocked silence fell, broken by the King commanding that the man be let through. The messenger approached the King, bowed,and then said, “Your Majesty, I bring most terrible and calamitous news. Rome has been captured and sacked by the German and Spanish mercenaries of the Emperor. They have plundered and defiled its churches, destroyed its relics and holy treasures, tortured and killed thousands of its priests.”

 

The King's face was murderous, and his tone dangerously level as he asked, “And what of His Holiness?”

 

“The Pope is a prisoner in the Castel San Angelo.”

 

“You mean he is the Emperor's prisoner.”

 

“Yes.” 

 

The King turned and gave the Queen such a cold, furious look that even George felt chilled by the sight of it. After he stormed off, the Queen recovered quickly enough to shoot Anne an unreadable look before standing and leaving calmly. As the courtiers drifted away, George lost track of Anne, but someone caught his wrist, yanking him into an alcove. 

 

“Well, that's just made a mess of everything, hasn't it?” Edward said grimly. 

 

“A bit,” George agreed. “I doubt the rest of Europe will stand for it, though really, with King Francis having been so roundly defeated by Charles already, we're the only force with any real power that doesn't belong to the Emperor. I mean, there's Portugal but they're allied with Spain, and Scotland, but God knows they're not strong enough. Nor could we trust them.”

 

“For this we probably could, but it won't happen like that. I don't think there will be a war over it at all, no one will dare. What I don't understand is, the Emperor is devout, almost ridiculously so at times. Why would he sack Rome?” Edward shook his head. “It doesn't make sense.”

 

“Well, it's a power play, obviously, but what's he going to do with it?” George said, scowling. “He's just made all of Europe hate him in one stroke. But more important than that, what does this mean for us? For Anne? Do you think the King will give up on the annulment now?” 

 

“Do you?” 

 

George sighed. “I guess not, no. He's set his mind to it, and God knows our King is stubborn.”

 

“And thank God he is. This will make it more difficult, I'm sure, but not impossible. Maybe the King will even find that he doesn't need the Pope at all.” 

 

“You don't mean...?” George had a feeling he knew what his brother was talking about, and if so, well, he liked the idea, but... It was quite the risk. “Now's not the time for that, is it?”

 

“No, of course not. But you never know, do you?”

 

~ ~ ~

 

“Cardinal Wolsey is going to France,” Boleyn informed his younger stepson, earning him an only just suppressed eyeroll from Tom. Really, the young man thought irritably, he knew that already, he was part of the Cardinal's household, wasn't he? And he was supposed to go with the Cardinal to France, so why was it being brought up?

 

“I know that, Father, I'm in the traveling party.”

 

“I am aware of that, you foolish boy. That is why I'm speaking to you. I want you to understand how important it is that you pay close attention to Wolsey, Note how he behaves, who he speaks to and for how long. We know he's dealing with the French, but we need proof. Not to mention, if he knows the King means to marry your sister, I don't think he'll put in his best effort for the divorce any longer. So watch him, and see if he's figured it out.” 

 

Oh, it was the crusade against Wolsey again. His stepfather and Norfolk had been trying for that for years now. When were they going to give it up? The Cardinal was smart, and had made himself all but unassailable. He was a bit nervous now, since he hadn't gotten the King his annulment yet, but it was probably only a matter of time before he managed that and was on top again. Tom found it hard to believe that anything could topple Wolsey forever. 

 

But he also knew better than to argue. “I understand, Father,” he said with a nod. Thinking to the recent siblings' meeting, he wondered how he might be able to use this trip for good use as concerned the marriage. It surprised him that his stepfather hadn't mentioned that, but maybe he had a plan of his own for it. Or he was biding his time on the matter. Something.

 

When he was allowed to leave his stepfather's presence, he went in search of his friend Wyatt. “So, I hear you're to come to France as well,” he said lightly, clapping the other man on the back. 

 

“Yes, well, I don't think the King liked the poem I wrote for your sister and so he's having me sent to France instead,” Wyatt said ruefully. 

 

“I told you to give up on her, my friend,” Tom pointed out. “It's your own fault for not listening.” 

 

“Yes, I thought as much. But my God, it's not as though I had an affair with her,” Wyatt said ruefully. “All I did was play at bowls with her on occasion, and write a brace of poems about her. And this was before she was absolutely the King's sweetheart. Still, I can't complain about the opportunity to go to France, I suppose.” 

 

“Plenty of beautiful women for you to drown your sorrows and me to fight off boredom with,” Tom said with a smirk.

 

“God, do you think of nothing else?” Wyatt teased. 

 

“You're claiming that you do?” Tom retorted. 

 

The other man drew himself with a mock-arrogant expression on his face. “I am a poet, I'll have you know – and not all my poems are about women.” 

 

“Just the ones you write, eh?” Tom laughed. Wyatt rolled his eyes but chuckled as well.

 

~ ~ ~

 

She had spoken to Mendoza, and now all she could do was wait. Katherine hated waiting, but she was quite good at it. Her entire childhood, she had been waiting to marry Arthur, and then seven years in England she had waited for Henry. Sometimes she felt that all she did was wait. But as her ladies readied her for bed, she allowed no trace of her weariness or the hope that had come with the news of her nephew's conquest to show.

 

She was, of course, horrified by the sacking of Rome, but... Charles was devout, as she was. He would not have dared attack Rome unless he somehow felt it was the right thing to do, and perhaps it was God's way of starting a chain of events that would save her from ruin at the hands of her own husband. Katherine did not know but it was the only answer which she could accept. Charles had to be working at God's direction. 

 

She had to stop herself from stiffening when it was Lady Anne who placed her nightcap on her head, calmly asking if she had any letters instead. But when Anne reached for the ties of Katherine's cap, the older woman snatched them away. Sometimes in tying the cap, a lady's hands would brush Katherine's skin, and she could not bear to have this... woman touch her. 

 

Because she knew now. She could not believe it, but she had known it the day she had watched Henry dance with the chit, before the messenger had come. It was madness, but Henry meant to set her aside so that he could marry this Englishwoman. He would choose the daughter of one of his own subjects over his wife, an Infanta of Spain. Katherine thought she might, _might_ have been willing to retire had Henry wanted to marry one of her own nieces, for example, either one of Charles' sisters or one of his cousins, her sister Maria's Portuguese children. At least she could trust family to keep Mary secure, and at least Katherine would not be moving aside for someone lesser, 

 

But Anne Boleyn? One of her own ladies, of good breeding, yes, but still a subject? Even Elizabeth Woodville, rumored by many to be a witch, had been royalty through her mother, even if her father had been only a knight when the two had married. Katherine would not stand aside for her, not if she died in the battle.

 

Anne curtsied and moved away, the last of the ladies to leave, but a sudden impulse seized Katherine, refusing to allow the younger woman to leave without making sure she understood the truth of all this. “Lady Anne?” 

 

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Oh, she was brazen, her voice polite yet somehow... smug.

 

“I know what you are doing.” Katherine turned to face the girl, voice and eyes like ice. Anne stared back with a calm face, which only infuriated Katherine more, though she kept it in check. “But do not think to take the King away from me. Let him play with you, let him give you gifts. But he cannot give you his true heart. For I have that in my keeping.”

 

The two of them stood there for a long moment, eyes locked, neither of them giving way to the other. And in spite of herself, Katherine was almost impressed. But at the same time, she felt a deep chill. Henry was one thing. Her husband was easily led, and left to his own devices he would come back to her. But Anne, standing unaffected by her Queen's anger, was dangerous. This was her real enemy, perhaps even more so than Wolsey. 

 

Understanding that, still Katherine dismissed the girl with a gesture, like the nothing she still was. And if Katherine had her say, a nothing was all Anne Boleyn would ever be. She would certainly never allow a girl young enough to be her daughter to take her place, not when she was just an Englishwoman.

 

Katherine was not about to step aside for anyone's subject.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Margaret heard the servant boy announcing Thomas Boleyn and stopped dead a few feet away from the door to Charles' study. What in God's name was Wiltshire, of all people, doing here? As far as she knew, he spent most of his time scheming with his brother-in-law by his first marriage, Norfolk. And Norfolk hated her husband. 

 

Which made it even odder when she heard Boleyn claim that Norfolk had sent him. Charles echoed her thoughts, pointing out that Norfolk hated him. 

 

“Yes, that may be true, Your Grace,” Boleyn said smoothly, “but there is someone he hates more. 

 

“The Cardinal.” Well, Margaret thought, that was no surprise. Almost everyone but her brother hated Wolsey. She herself had no opinion on him either way.

 

“Of course,” Boleyn agreed. 

 

“But what is that to me?” Charles asked, and outside, Margaret nodded. After all, as far as she knew, Charles had no grudge against Wolsey, one of the few who didn't. But then, one of the only things Margaret had known about her husband prior to the voyage to Portugal was that he avoided politics, so he would have no reason to take issue with Wolsey. 

 

Boleyn was speaking again, voice low, and Margaret had to stop her musings and strain to hear. “Do you miss the court, Your Grace? Perhaps you don't. Down here in this green space you have so much leisure to enjoy, so many idle pursuits.” Margaret thought that she might like to stuff some of those idle pursuits – and the man's mocking tone – down his throat, but it was obvious what game he was playing as he continued. 

 

“Yet I have heard it said by some that the King's presence is like the sun, and when you are away from it, there is only eternal night.” Henry as the sun? God, she hoped her brother never heard that, it would only make him even more insufferably arrogant. But that wasn't the point right now, she reminded herself. 

 

“You're a clever man, Boleyn,” Charles said, and Margaret relaxed at his sharp tone. Good, so Charles wasn't fooled either, he knew he was being toyed with. “That is what people say. They say you are charming and clever. What does Norfolk want?”

 

“He wants you to help us destroy Wolsey.” Now she really had to strain to hear. “And in return, he will persuade the King to forgive you and welcome you back to court.”

 

“Thank you, my lord.” It was a clear dismissal, and Margaret listened for receding footsteps and a door closing before she stepped out of her shadowed alcove and through the doorway into the study. Charles, seeing her out of the corner of his eye, she assumed, sighed but did not look around.

 

“What did you hear?” he asked tiredly, his head tipped to rest on the back of his chair. 

 

“Everything,” she said, crossing the room to him and gripping the back of his chair with both hands. “What will you do?” she asked, looking down to meet his eyes. 

 

“What should I do?” 

 

She was, frankly, a bit surprised that he had asked her at all. With the way things were going between them lately, she would not have expected it. Resting her chin on his forehead, she ran her hands down his chest. “You once told me that sometimes Wolsey had been kind to you,” she observed. She wanted to go back to court, yes, and she had no particular fondness for Wolsey, but she knew quite well that the country wasn't likely to run half as well without him. 

 

“Did I? I'd quite forgotten?” 

 

Margaret lifted her head, eyes widening slightly. So, he was going to do it, then? She should have known he'd already decided. She just hoped that her husband, a man who avoided politics, knew what he was getting into, joining forces with two of the court's most wily schemers.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Cromwell saw Anne Boleyn coming his way, and decided now was as good a time as any to put himself in her path. “Lady Anne,” he said in polite greeting. 

 

She turned her head, giving him a surprisingly warm smile. “Mr. Cromwell,” she said with a nod. 

 

“I have some news. The King is dispatching a good man to see the Pope with letters about the divorce. A Dr. Knight.”

 

The lady smiled faintly, as he'd expected. “I know Dr. Knight, he was good friends with my late tutor, Mr. Jenner. He even stayed with us and involved himself with our lessons for a month one year.” 

 

“Indeed. All things connect,” Cromwell said, because of course he had known that. He bowed and moved aside to let her pass him, and she began to, before stopping. 

 

“A favor, Mr. Cromwell?” 

 

That, he had not expected. “Yes, my lady?” 

 

“My brother, Edward. He and Dr. Knight had quite the rapport, and as I recall, corresponded for a while. Do you think you might be able to convince the good doctor to let my brother join his traveling party?” 

 

Ah, the elder Seymour boy, the one he'd seen at the meeting months before. A request he had not thought she would make, but an understandable one. Clearly, Lady Anne meant to play this game for herself, inserting her own players, and Cromwell made note of it. It was impressive, and possibly dangerous. For now, though, he saw no reason not to oblige her. 

 

“I'm sure something can be done, my lady,” he said evenly, and she nodded graciously to him before continuing on her way. Cromwell continued on his, deep in thought. He now knew one more thing about Anne Boleyn; she would not be content to stand idly by as all this went on. In that, he reflected, she was very much like her rival the Queen, who he suspected was also not passively waiting for help.   


There were rumors that George Boleyn supported the new religion. Edward Seymour certainly did. And Anne Boleyn's time in France had been spent primarily in the household of Francis' sister, the Duchess Marguerite. Duchess Marguerite was becoming more and more known for her reformist attitudes. Was it such a stretch, then, to think that Anne Boleyn might also? Cromwell didn't think so. Of course, he also didn't know for sure, and it would be foolish to move preemptively. But if his suspicions proved true, well... It was a chance, If the woman the King loved supported the true faith, then the King himself might be brought round to it. And if the King was converted...

 

He was getting ahead of himself. But there was a possible chance here. He would be wise to keep an eye on the situation, and if the opportunity presented itself, to nudge the Lady Anne into broaching the subject with the King. Perhaps England could be brought to the truth after all, with planning and a little luck.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“Jane, leave it alone. Really, stop worrying about me,” Anne said, shaking her head. Jane frowned at her sister. 

 

“Anne, I saw the look on your face, as though you were besotted with him. I'm just afraid that if you fall in love with him, he'll break your heart in the end.” 

 

Anne put down her hairbrush and smiled wryly at Jane, coming over and placing her hands on the blonde's shoulders. “I appreciate it, Jane, honestly, I do. But you don't have to worry about me. Everything is going to be just fine. I know it.” 

 

Jane wasn't so sure, but there was no arguing with Anne when she was in this sort of mindset, so Jane left instead, heading out to walk in the gardens. She stopped by a rosebush, toying idly with one of the blossoms and trying to avoid any thorns. Anne was so sure it would work out now, when just a few weeks ago she had called all six of them together to talk about the fact that her place was an uncertain one. Which it was. After the King had given Anne the necklace and left, people had whispered and stared at her sister, because the King had obviously chosen her over the Queen. Anne had tried to withdraw when Katherine was announced, but the King had stopped her, and Katherine had turned on her heel, clearly furious although she remained calm.

 

Anne hadn't been the one to issue the challenge, but Jane knew it was Anne who was likely to be blamed if blame was handed out. And that was not a good thing. But there was nothing she could do, and so she tried not to think about it. 

 

“Mistress Seymour!” 

 

“Sir Anthony,” she said, smiling slightly as she saw him coming toward her. Easily, she turned away from the bush and fell into step beside him. “You seem to be in good spirits.” 

 

“Well, it's Charles. He wrote to me, says he's not sure but he thinks he's found a way back into the King's good graces.”

 

“Oh?” Jane said, raising an eyebrow. “Did he say how he might manage that?” 

 

“No, unfortunately, but it will be a relief to have him back if he does. You don't know, the King is not... quite right without him. They've been practically brothers for years, those two, almost inseparable. It was what saved Charles when he first married the Princess, and it might get him back to court now.” 

 

Jane eyed him carefully. “Are you telling me this to prove that the King can be loyal after all? Since I was so harsh about him in that regard before?”

 

Anthony shrugged. “Not as such, no. I'm just hoping to have the last of my friends back, especially right now. William is moping for some reason, he won't say what, and the King is not in the best of spirits as he waits for Wolsey to get back from France, so I can only hope that having our entire circle restored will also restore our balance.” 

 

Jane nodded, feeling vaguely guilty for having been so suspicious. “I hope so too, then, because that doesn't sound pleasant.”

 

They walked in silence for a few minutes, and then Anthony stopped abruptly. “I feel I should apologize to you.” 

 

“What? Why?” 

 

“Your brother, Ormonde, spoke to me. He seems to think the time I'm spending with you will do your reputation harm. I tried to tell him we are simply friends, but I'm not sure he believed me. I will stop seeking you out if you prefer that.”

 

Damn George and his overprotective nature. Jane appreciated it when she considered that it meant her brother cared, but that didn't make it less infuriating at times. “Don't worry about George, he's bark and no bite.” 

 

“No, but he's not the only one. Will thinks that we're... Well.”

 

“But we know we're not,” Jane said, confused. She honestly didn't see Anthony that way. He was attractive, yes, and if for some reason she found she was to marry him, she would not object, but he was her friend. Like her brothers, in a way, only outside the family, which was oddly refreshing. 

 

“Yes, I thought so too, but everyone who mentions you to me seems so convinced that I'm deluded, and so I'm starting to wonder if they can see something that I can't.” 

 

Jane shook her head. “You shouldn't let your friends get to you that way. My siblings have acted the same, but I just ignore them.” Seeing that he still looked a bit unsure, she sighed. Glancing around, she saw that no one was around, and she tugged him behind a hedge. “If you have to prove it to yourself either way, somehow, now is the time to do it.” This wasn't like her, this was like Anne when they lived in France, bold and unafraid. But she didn't want to lose her friend, and so she would mimic Anne for that purpose. 

 

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Anthony's hand came up to curl around the back of her neck. She lifted her head, knowing what he wanted, and his lips brushed lightly against hers before they broke apart. For a moment they stood like that, staring at each other, and then the sheer awkwardness of it all hit them both at the same time, and they couldn't hold back the laughter. 

 

“So, no sudden attraction to me coming from nowhere?” Jane quipped, feeling like she was one of her teasing siblings all of a sudden. Anthony glared at her, a faint tinge of red on his cheeks. 

 

“No,” he grumbled, “and you can stop laughing at me now. God, I've made a fool of myself.” 

 

“You have, but that's all right. I won't tell anyone,” Jane assured him with a gentler smile. “Besides, it's just as well, isn't it? Didn't you tell me you were betrothed? To the daughter of your father's friend, or something like that?” 

 

“Yes, that's true,” Anthony admitted. “I've never even met her, though. So we shall see how that goes.” 

 

“George has never met his betrothed, Catherine Grey,” Jane pointed out. “But according to our father they're to be married next year. It's only normal for us, and you two are both men. My marital fate could be far more unpleasant than yours.”

 

“Well, hopefully both of us will be fortunate in our spouses, as we are fortunate in our friends,” Anthony said with a wry smile. 

 

“If so, we'll be very lucky,” Jane said with real feeling.

 

~ ~ ~

 

As she dried the Queen's feet, Anne wondered if being commanded to do this job was Katherine's way of putting her in her place. If that was the case, the older woman was sure to be disappointed. It was Anne who had the King's love now, and while she knew that Katherine could not yet be counted out, she found the disdain of the Spanish woman hard to swallow.

 

“That necklace,” Katherine said quietly. “Who gave it to you?” Anne kept silent, and the Queen prompted, “Answer me.”

 

Anne kept her eyes lowered for a moment before raising them as she answered. “His Majesty.”

 

Katherine scoffed before reaching forward and grabbing the necklace, pulling Anne forward by the neck as she did so. The position was uncomfortable and Anne longed to move backwards, but thought better of it. She didn't know what Katherine wanted here, but for now she would play along.

 

“It's expensive,” Katherine mused, before adding a phrase in Spanish that Anne was able to figure out meant “an expensive whore.” Her temper flared up, and she forgot her promise to herself to hold her tongue and pretend, for the sake of keeping gossip down, that she was just another lady-in-waiting.

 

“I am no whore,” she said, an obvious edge to her tone. “Your Majesty,” she added belatedly when Katherine's eyes flashed. After all, for now, the other woman was still Queen. “I love His Majesty and I believe he loves me.” Again, as she said the words, she wondered about the truth of her own feelings, but now was not the time to ponder it, not with Katherine giving her a mocking smile and half-laugh. 

 

“He's infatuated with you as men often are by new things,” the older woman declared. She stared contemptuously down at Anne, who looked up defiantly, refusing to be cowed. “Soon he will see you for what you really are, and he will tire of you, as of all the others.”

 

Anne wasn't sure why she said it. Maybe it was Katherine touching on her own deeply buried fears, or simply that Anne could never stand to be passive in a confrontation. But she sat back on her heels, raised her chin, and met the Queen's eyes squarely before issuing her own challenge in a voice that was almost innocent. “And what If he does not?”

 

Katherine's eyes flashed again. “I did not give you permission to speak! You are a _servant_ ,” she hissed, her calm giving way to temper. Anne felt a flash of triumph at breaking through that damned composure, and it helped her keep her gaze steady and her confidence high. “Go now!” Katherine ordered, and for a moment Anne did not move. 

 

“Go!” 

 

With that second command, Anne nodded minutely, rising gracefully to her feet and curtseying slightly before leaving. Outside, she waited until she had walked three corridors away before falling back against the wall, breathing hard. It was a mix of exultation and fear making her heart race now. She was glad to have finally confronted the Queen, to have the battle lines drawn between them. But at the same time... She had known Katherine was an enemy, but now she knew that the woman was even more of an obstacle than she'd thought. The angry woman she had just faced down would stop at nothing to keep Henry. Anne knew that without being told, knew it down to her bones.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Anne's little scheme to get him into Dr. Knight's party was just like her, Edward mused, but that wasn't a bad thing, really. He'd been happy enough to go, if only because at least this way he'd be able to give a firsthand account of what was going on. And that could only be for the better. 

 

Being stopped by Wolsey's men had been unexpected, but, in hindsight, not a surprise. While Dr. Knight himself was taken off to see Wolsey, Edward looked around for his brother. He didn't think he could manage to eavesdrop on the conversation between the Cardinal and the doctor, but if there was any way to do it, Tom would know. 

 

Sure enough, it seemed that there was a servants' stair that ran directly past the Cardinal's office, and there was a tiny crack in the wall. It was too small to see through, but the words came through loud and clear. Edward would have asked just how Tom managed to find out about this, but after thinking about it for a moment decided he was probably happier being left in the dark on that particular subject. Besides, next to what the two men in the office were saying, it was irrelevant.

 

“I make it my business to know the King's business,” Wolsey was saying. “Did you really think you could go to Orvieto without my knowing all about it? Now, you've been sent by the King to the Pope with this bull, is that correct?”

 

“Yes,” Dr. Knight replied calmly, though Edward could hear a hint of nervousness in the old man's tone. He didn't blame him; judging from Wolsey's tone the Cardinal was in a temper and angering the Cardinal could be almost as risky as angering the King.

 

“This is quite an extraordinary document. Do you know what's in it?” 

 

“No, I was not informed.” 

 

That did not sound good. Edward had known that Dr. Knight didn't know exactly what was in the paper he was to take to the Pope, save that it had to do with the annulment. Edward had considered opening the bull and reading it for himself, clandestinely, but he hadn't had the chance to do so yet. Now Wolsey had beaten him to it, which could be a disaster.

 

“Well, just as well. I wouldn't want to be the man who has to present this to the descendent of St. Peter. It asks this: if no way can be found to nullify the King's marriage, the Pope should simply allow him to take a second wife. Do you understand? He's asking the Pope to sanction bigamy!” 

 

Edward and Tom exchanged shocked looks – that was a surprise – but obviously they couldn't say anything while in the stairwell. However, Wolsey was soon talking again, and what he said spelled even more trouble. “I don't understand, this seems as though the King has a new wife in mind. What woman does he think will accept to be a second wife if it comes to it?”

 

“Lady Anne Boleyn, Your Eminence.” 

 

Damn it. Damn it to _hell_. Of course, no one had told Dr. Knight that Anne's place as the King's future wife was to be kept quiet, and the King himself was surely making no secret of it. That did not make Edward feel any less frustrated by the fact that now the Cardinal knew, a thing which the entire family had hoped to avoid.

 

“Anne Boleyn. The King loves Anne Boleyn?” The usually smooth-spoken Cardinal all but stumbled over the words, and Edward would have given a lot to see Wolsey's face when Dr. Knight confirmed it. “And so he is sending you to the Pope with this. Well, if the King commands it, you must be on your way, Dr. Knight. But with no hope of success, or honor.”

 

Edward and Tom made their way out of the staircase, and immediately Tom said, “Good God, can you believe that? D'you think Anne would accept being a second wife if it came to that? I mean, it's basically a mistress with better legal standing, I can't see her doing it.” 

 

Edward frowned. “If it was that or nothing, she would,” he said thoughtfully. “But that's not even the point. I don't think the King means it to be taken seriously, he's just making a point. He's saying that he wants to marry Anne badly enough that he will even offer such a ridiculous 'compromise' to do it. The real problem here is that now Wolsey knows everything.”

 

“I can't see why that's so bad,” Tom argued. “I mean, the Cardinal is the King's man, whatever he thinks of our family. He won't dare work against him. And Anne is what the King wants.”

 

“Perhaps you're right,” Edward conceded. “But then you might not be. The problem with Wolsey is that while he will always do as the King commands, he will also always serve his own interest. Now that those two things are in direct opposition, considering that Father and Norfolk will use Anne to help destroy Wolsey if they can... Which part of Wolsey's nature will triumph?”

 

For himself, Edward could admit that he almost hoped the Cardinal would fail. Not because he had a personal grudge against the man; he left that to his stepfather and the Duke of Norfolk (and Suffolk, if his suspicions were correct) to worry about. But if the Cardinal failed and the Pope would not give the King what he wanted, well... As he'd implied to George, there were possibilities there, weren't there? 

 

~ ~ ~

 

Things were worse than he could have imagined. Even after Knight had told him that the King's choice for his new wife was Anne Boleyn, Wolsey had been sure he could still salvage the situation. The girl might be influenced by her father and uncle, but perhaps he could make himself a friend to her as well as the King. There was hope for it. Or, perhaps he could convince the King that he wlould be more likely to get his divorce if his planned bride was a foreign princess. No matter what strategy he chose, there were ways to handle this situation.

 

But after the cardinals refused to come to Paris for the conclave, after More refused to take his side, he began to worry. More had influence on the King, and would have been a useful ally, but really, Wolsey should have known better than to try and make that idealistic, arrogantly self-righteous fool see sense. It was an annoyance, a blow, though nothing compared to the cardinals' failure to come. 

 

He'd been worried enough about having to report that to the King, and then... Then he had found himself faced with both the King and Anne Boleyn, wearing a headdress that looked very much like a crown. As if she were Queen already. And the way she had looked at him told him one thing; she saw him as her enemy. 

 

Wolsey hoped he could change that, if nothing else went wrong. Clearly, the cardinals would listen only to the Pope now; well, he could work with that. Surely Clement would be bitter over the Emperor's actions, enough hopefully to finally rouse the Medici fire that seemed to be sorely lacking in the man thus far. No Medici duke of Florence would have allowed a slight like the invasion of their city to hold; what better way for Clement to prove he had the same mettle than to deliberately do something that would infuriate the Emperor? It was a slim hope, yes, but it was something. 

 

The Pope was in exile but he was away from direct Imperial control. It might be enough. It had to be, because Wolsey suspected that if the Pope would not give Henry what he wanted, the King would look elsewhere. If he could make sure the Pope knew that not granting the annulment would mean that the Church would lose England, well... That might be enough.

 

Perhaps Joan had been right, and he should have escaped when he had the chance. But now it was far too late, wasn't it? He had to see this through, though he was becoming less and less convinced that he could survive it. He knew that if he could not change her mind, Anne Boleyn would be all too happy to see him fall, and with the way the King looked at her... That alone might doom him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know one of the bulls was missing, but Henry never slept with Mary in this 'verse, so Henry and Anne need no dispensation because of affinity.


	11. Are We Going Down?

“So,” George laughed, “how do you find the Cardinal?” He peered over Anne's shoulder so that the two of them were reflected back in her mirror. Anne laughed, pushing him away. But he did want her to answer the question; she and the King had been the Cardinal's guests today, and he was curious to say the least.

 

“I found him very considerate to my needs and desires,” Anne said, a faintly mocking tone in her voice. “It's obvious what he's trying to do. He wants to be in my good graces, and, well... If he can get the divorce, I suppose I'll have to be grateful to him, but I'll never trust him.”

 

“Father and Uncle want you to bring him down,” George reminded her, concerned. Anne had the King's favor, yes, but did that mean she ought to risk going counter to what their elders wanted? Anne didn't seem worried about it, rolling her eyes in response to George's reminder as she brushed out her dark curls.

 

“I know what they want, but if Wolsey can get Henry the annulment, I don't want to get rid of him. That wouldn't be wise, would it?”

 

“No, I suppose not. You know, I think our brother is half-hoping that Wolsey will fail, so that it can be suggested to the King that he might not need the Pope.” 

 

Anne turned from her mirror to look George in the eye. “Really?” she asked, expression thoughtful. “Well, that would be a solution of sorts, wouldn't it?” 

 

George had thought Anne might like that idea. But it was probably best if they didn't talk about it for too long, so he changed the subject. “So, why exactly were you pulled from the Queen's service?” 

 

Anne sighed. “Father overheard me telling Jane about a confrontation I had with the Queen, and he must have told Henry, who decided he didn't want me being bullied by Katherine. She wasn't bullying me, and even if she was, I can hold my own, but I admit it's a relief to be away from her.” 

 

Flopping onto his stomach across his sister's bed, George grinned at her. “Not to mention, you're on your own now, and I'm guessing you're to have a household?” 

 

“Mm-hmm,” Anne said, nodding. “Right now I have palace servants attending to me, but Father's having three maids coming up from one of the houses, he didn't say which, and Henry's diverting two new ladies-in-waiting to me. I don't know their names yet, though.”

 

George whistled. “Impressive,” he commented. “Nothing to what you'll have as Queen, but it's a good sign.” It was a very good sign, he thought as he glanced around the chamber. Anne had her own bedchamber and privy chamber now; the rooms were well-furnished and if it were daytime, the windows would let in a decent amount of sunlight. There was only one thing, or rather one person, who seemed to be missing. “Say, why isn't Jane here with you?” 

 

Anne scowled. “Father thinks it's best if she stays with Katherine for now. To keep an eye on her. As if Katherine lets her ladies see anything anyway. I'm not letting Jane be left there for long; I don't know whether Katherine will blame her for being my sister or not. Jane and I agreed we should give it a little time, but then I'm speaking to the King about it.”

 

So Anne was beginning to realize her own power. Even if she was only using it so that she could have their sister with her just now, he knew Anne well enough to know that she would keep it in mind if it worked. Anne was never one to ignore an advantage, and the King would probably give her anything she wanted right now. Which was, of course, why Wolsey was trying to court her favor. 

 

Personally, George didn't care about Wolsey nearly as much as his father and uncle did. If he was a threat to the family he would have to go, of course, but for the moment Anne might be right not to push too hard. He might be useful to them for now, after all. 

 

~ ~ ~

 

“So is this the way of things now?” Charles asked Tony, gesturing his friend to a seat. They were in Charles' privy chamber, and the knight raised an eyebrow as his friend filled wine goblets for the both of them. 

 

“Is what the way of things?” he asked. 

 

“The King and Lady Anne Boleyn. I've never seen him quite like this over a woman before. Is he really going to marry her?” 

 

Tony gave him a sharp look. “Why? I thought Wiltshire and Norfolk were your friends now?” he said, his voice holding an edge of mockery. He didn't understand why Charles of all people would make a move against Wolsey, when the Cardinal had certainly never done anything to hurt him. In fact, Tony knew that Wolsey had spoken for Charles and Margaret after their marriage. Of course, Charles might not be aware of that. But even so, where was his motive?

 

“I just wanted to know, since I've been out of touch,” Charles said, toying with his wine goblet. “Besides, Boleyn said nothing about his daughter when he spoke to me; it came as a surprise to find her all but Queen already, at least in Henry's eyes. I'm almost glad Margaret's not been forgiven entirely yet; she and Katherine are close and I don't know how she'll react to all of this.” 

 

“If she's smart, she'll keep quiet,” Tony commented. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the Boleyns' rise either. He was friends with Jane, of course, and while he didn't know Anne that well he could admire a pretty woman with spirit, which was what she was. It was the men of the family, particularly Wiltshire and Norfolk, that gave him pause. The Seymour boys and George weren't that different from the rest of the ambitious young men at court, but those older two... Tony didn't like them, it was something about the cold way they watched everything. The thought of Henry favoring them for Anne's sake was not a comfortable one.

 

“You don't know her very well then,” Charles said, and he sounded tired. Tony raised an eyebrow. 

 

“I take it things are difficult between you?”

 

“'Difficult' is putting it a bit mildly. To be honest, I don't... I don't know what's gone wrong. We were... It's not that I don't love her anymore, it's that everything seems to be against us being happy. The banishment just caused so many problems between us, and to be honest I haven't any idea how I'm supposed to fix it.” 

 

Tony said nothing, simply taking a sip of the wine Charles had given him. “Well, if it was being sent from court that did it, you should be fine now,” he said finally, unsure what else he could say at this point. He barely knew Princess Margaret – or was it Duchess, now? He wasn't sure which she would be called by now, under the circumstances – so there was little he could say. “Of course, the fact that you've bedded any woman who'll have you since you got back to court likely won't help you come to terms with your wife.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, and Tony cursed himself inwardly. He'd always been careful not to comment on his friends' penchant for infidelity, or rather, Charles' and the King's penchant for infidelity. 

 

He wouldn't deny that both he and William had bedded their fair share of women, but for both of them, they usually ended one association before beginning another. Charles in particular didn't bother with that. It wasn't Tony's job to approve or disapprove, but he thought that behavior lacked a certain courtesy, if nothing else. 

 

“That has nothing to do with Margaret,” Charles snapped, on the defensive. 

 

“I didn't say that it did, but once she gets back to court, she might see it differently.” 

 

“Ha, as though you're one to talk. It's not as though you play the monk.”

 

“No, but I don't have a wife who I married for love either.” Tony sighed. “Look, I'm not one to advise you on matters of the heart, and you of all people should know that. I have a woman I am good friends with, but there's no romance there. I'll be married in a few years at the latest, but I've never met my bride-to-be.”

 

“Well, I suppose you tried at least. That's definitely something,” the other man said ruefully. “Things are changing, aren't they, Tony?”

 

“Oh, there's no doubt of that.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Going to court as a lady-in-waiting was always a bit of a gamble, and joining the household of Princess Margaret had been even more of one, since it would mean traveling permanently to a foreign court. Except it hadn't, and after the Suffolk fiasco, Ann Stanhope, like the rest of Margaret's ladies, had been summarily dismissed and sent home. She didn't think the King blamed them for what their mistress had done, but there were too many of them to be reassigned to the Queen. 

 

Even so, Ann had applied for a place as soon as she deemed enough time to have passed, and she'd gotten her wish. Only she wasn't being assigned to the Queen, she was to be attached to the Lady Anne Boleyn's household. She didn't know much about the Marquess of Wiltshire's younger daughter, though she had ruthlessy quizzed her brother on the subject. After all, his best friend from his school days was Anne's stepbrother. All she'd gotten from him was that, apparently, the King had taken quite a fancy to Lady Anne. 

 

That, Ann decided before her first day in the Lady's service was through, was an understatement. Her new mistress already wore headdresses elaborate enough for a Queen, and it was clear that the court saw her as Queen-in-waiting. The whispers were soft, but thanks to a friend from her days in the Princess' household, now one of the Queen's ladies, Ann knew that Anne Boleyn was to be the next Queen. At least, if the King had his way.

 

Which was why belonging to the Lady Anne's household was even riskier than life in a foreign court. Because if it should all go wrong, that would be the end of it as the Queen likely wouldn't accept Anne's ladies into her own entourage. But if the Lady succeeded... Well. The larger the risk, the greater the consequences if it should go awry, but that also meant there was a greater chance for advantage if all went well. So she was happy enough to serve the Lady Anne, especially since her brother had hinted that the Lady supported reform. That could only be to the good. 

 

Her fellow lady-in-waiting didn't seem to agree with her, though. Lady Mary Talbot might have been insulted because her father's rank was not that far below Anne's father's, and so she felt like it demeaned her to serve the other woman. Ann didn't know, but if that was the case it was ridiculous. She had a strain of royal blood in her veins despite being only a knight's daughter, from Edward III's youngest son, but while she was proud of it she didn't let that pride get in the way of more practical matters.

 

She didn't care, but with the other woman slamming things and muttering now that they were alone in their shared bedchamber, she decided enough was enough. That noise was annoying, and it was giving her a headache. “What exactly is wrong with you?” she snapped. 

 

The other woman sniffed. “I should think it would be obvious.”

 

“Well, it isn't, and your banging about is driving me mad.” 

 

“We're here to serve the King's _mistress_! It's insulting.”

 

“She's not exactly his mistress; I doubt they've shared a bed.” Not if the King hoped to marry her. 

 

“Hardly the point, she's still a shameless harlot and I'm only here because my father wished to please the King.”

 

Ann could have continued the conversation, but she opted to read instead, ignoring Mary Talbot's petty noisemaking as best she could. After all, she had no patience for fools, and that was exactly what the other woman was. Clearly, she hadn't seen what Ann did, hadn't made the same plans. 

 

If Lady Anne got her way, those who had been close to her in the early days would have the best claim on her favor. Granted, Ann knew that she was unlikely to become her new mistress' confidante; Anne had two sisters and she'd already seen how close Jane Seymour was to her stepsister. Still, if she did her duties well – and managed to curb her sharp tongue – she could get Anne to like her, and that would be a good start.

 

Besides, Anne Boleyn and those around her were fast becoming the center of the court. Even being in the Lady's outer circle would put a smart, attractive young woman in a place to meet people, and hopefully to find a husband. Ann knew she made a decent prospect for a wife, as she was reasonably pretty and had a good dowry as her father's only legitimate child still alive, but since her father was dead and her brother was a bastard, there was no one to arrange a match for her. So she would have to decide matters for herself. 

 

Maybe Mary Talbot didn't worry about that. Maybe she didn't mind having all her choices made for her, maybe she had someone to actually make those choices. Maybe she didn't care about or want a place at court. But Ann did. And really, if Mary didn't care enough to put the effort in... Well, it was simply less competition.

 

~ ~ ~

 

It was _unbelievably_ awkward, serving Katherine after what had happened between her sister and the Queen. But at the moment, Jane didn't have a choice. Her father refused to let her leave the Queen's service to stay with Anne, though she was allowed to still share her sister's bedchamber. That was actually a requirement; Anne needed someone with her to vouch for her chastity. Neither of them minded; all they had to do was draw the curtains tight around the bed and it was like the old days in the country, or even in France. It was one bit of familiarity in a world that was changing all too rapidly.

 

But that was at night. During the day, Anne had her own two ladies – and Jane wasn't sure what she made of her sister's attendants just yet, she would need more time to really get their measure – and Jane was forced to don the silver and black of Katherine's household. It was ridiculous, actually, because she was only there now as a spy for the family, but it wasn't as though she did them any good. No one in the Queen's household trusted her, and most of them didn't like her either, knowing that she was her sister's staunch ally. Jane couldn't blame them, exactly, but it certainly made her wish she didn't have to stay here. She might be a quiet, good-natured sort, but that didn't mean she _liked_ having whispers and glares follow her throughout the day.

 

To her credit, Katherine herself wasn't any less gracious to Jane than she was to her other ladies, even if her eyes held a degree of coldness that was not there with other ladies-in-waiting. Jane had to admit that not many women would be so kind, possibly including Anne. She didn't know if she could do it herself, either. But it didn't really help. She still knew she was essentially a soldier in the enemy camp, as Tom had teased her about being just the day before.

 

But when she found herself alone with the Queen, the tension was almost too much. And then the Queen spoke. “What is it that she wants, your sister? Does she really think she can take my husband from me? She is not the first to imagine so, his first mistress Anne Stafford did as well. And yet here I am, and here I shall remain. You may tell her that.” 

 

Jane had to speak. “Your Majesty, this was not Anne's doing. She refused to be the King's mistress, and she did not set out to capture his heart. It's not her fault.” She should not have said it, and the cold fury in Katherine's face told her so, but she could not let the matter stand. Anne hadn't started this, and yet everyone at court already whispered that this must have been Anne's scheme all along. It hadn't been a scheme at all, and Jane knew that. She couldn't keep silent about it any longer.

 

“My husband would never think such things on his own, I an certain of that.” 

 

“Your Majesty, I was there, I know – ”  


“You know nothing, and I do not wish to see you anymore. Take your family loyalty to your sister's chambers and remain with her.”

 

Jane curtseyed and left, judging that to speak even a murmur of assent would be a tactical error now. She left the room, not sure how she felt. She had a feeling her father would not be pleased with her in the slightest, but she also knew that his reasons for keeping her in the Queen's household were irrelevant anyway. It was just that she couldn't work up the nerve to tell him so. She was always that way, quiet and biddable until provoked. And he hadn't brought her to that point with his coolly reasonable orders.

 

So she would go to her sister's chambers, and that would be that, wouldn't it?

 

~ ~ ~

 

As George and Tom teased Jane about only lasting two weeks with the Queen after Anne left, Edward glanced around his sister's new chambers. They were very fine, not quite royal apartments but close enough. Really, though, he wasn't interested in the room itself; he was more focused on the two women who were gathering embroidery silks and leaving the room. The blonde was Mary Talbot; she had opened the door for the three brothers, her manner that of the perfect attendant, but there was a sulky twist to her mouth and she all but ran from the room.

 

The other was Michael's sister Ann, and while Edward couldn't say that she lingered overlong, her pace was obviously slower than her fellow lady's was. As she left, she cast one slanting, considering look over her shoulder at the three men. She caught Edward's eye and nodded slightly, since they knew each other, and he responded in kind before she left and he turned his attention back to his family. Still, he wondered what she was playing at. 

 

As soon as the door closed, Anne heaved a great sigh of relief, sprawling across her bed on her stomach. “Finally, a moment's privacy!”

 

George snickered. “Don't like having a household, Anne?” he teased. 

 

“Well, one of my ladies hates me, and I'm not sure what to make of the other one, so it is a bit frustrating,” Anne shot back.

 

“Mary Talbot seems to feel that this is all beneath her, and Ann Stanhope's playing some kind of game,” Jane clarified. “Lady Mary probably won't be here long. I think she'll either force Anne to dismiss her or she'll just leave on her own.” 

 

“But I didn't think either of them – or their families – would be supporters of the Queen,” Tom said slowly. “I mean, that wouldn't make sense if they were.

 

“You mean their _menfolk_ aren't on Katherine's side,” Anne said grimly. “You all know as well as I do that the rumors are starting to spread, and when people hear about it, the men sympathize with Henry and the women take Katherine's part and blame me for leading him astray. Who's to say that a woman will always do as her husband wishes. Uncle Norfolk's wife is one example of a wife who does not. I can't say if that's her trouble, though.” 

 

George shrugged. “Well, the Talbots are an old, proud lot – wasn't Hal supposed to marry her before the King came out against the match and Northumberland decided on our Mary? She might hold a grudge, or perhaps she thinks she's too good to serve someone who's not Queen yet. It would happen that you'd have someone like that in your household, Anne.”

 

Anne scowled. “Thank you, George, that is _very_ cheering.”

 

George just grinned. “And what about the other one?”

 

“Arrogant, but she's keeping it to herself,” Jane said. “I suspect she's happy enough to be tied to us; it could be a chance for her. Edward, you know her brother, and I know the two of you have met, do you know any more than that?”

 

He knew she was bold, from that long look of hers, but he shrugged. “Not really. Ambitious, I think, but that just proves your point.”

 

“Well, I can deal with ambition,” Anne decided. “And as for Mary Talbot, I'd prefer someone who was friendly, but I suppose having her close is better, in case her dislike becomes something more. At least she'll be under our eye if it does.”

 

“Wolsey's sent a pair of lawyers to Orvieto,” Tom said.

 

“Yes, he said as much when the King and I were his guests,” Anne said. 

 

“Well, if he told you they were his best, he was right,” Tom informed her. “I know Gardiner and Foxe. Not well; they're university types with no patience for the regular sort of courtier.” He shot Edward a challenging look, one that his older brother ignored, as he was already becoming used to such jabs. “But at any rate, they're very good at what they do.”

 

Tom was right, as far as Edward knew. Foxe and Gardiner had been several years ahead of him at Cambridge, but he'd heard their names mentioned a few times there. They were both quite well-known.

 

“Well, that's good to know,” Anne said. “Oh, George, the King wants you to accompany us tomorrow when we go to meet the French ambassador.” 

 

George nodded, and then he smirked. “Shall I bring the dog? Wolsey?”

 

“I don't see why not,” Anne laughed. 

 

After the little meeting broke up, Edward was on his way back to his chambers when, once again, Ann Stanhope caught his eye. “Mr. Seymour,” she said lightly. “My brother said to tell you he sends his regards, though he is far away in York at present.”

 

“How is Michael? Besides being in York,” Edward asked. 

 

“Well enough. As you knowm his law practice is starting to draw attention, which can only help him. But that's not what I really wanted to talk to you about.”

 

Edward raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Well, then, madam, do tell me what your real purpose is.”

 

“I can't help but think that with Mistress Seymour banned from the Queen's rooms, you must want someone who can find out what happens there. I have a friend, Ursula Misseldon, from when I served Princess Margaret. Her cousin is Elizabeth Darrell, so she's accepted by the other ladies almost completely already. She and I talk quite often, and she doesn't mind telling me about what goes on there.”

 

Edward frowned. “And why should I believe that you're not telling her everything that goes on with my sister?”

 

“For one thing, she doesn't care. She's here to find a husband and that's all. Poltics and agendas bore her, she said as much herself. As for the rest... I suppose you'll just have to trust me,”she said with a smirk. “You'd trust Michael, wouldn't you?”

 

“Michael doesn't have a sly bone in his body when pranks aren't involved,” Edward said bluntly. “However, I suspect you are very different, Mistress Ann.”

 

“I daresay you're right, but then, you're not much like my brother either. I cannot think that you have any moral ground to stand on, Mr. Seymour.”

 

Edward shook his head. “I never said I did.”

 

“No, I suppose that you didn't. 

 

“Tell me, Mistress Ann. What is it that you want?”

 

She laughed at him as though he'd made some clever joke. “Oh, I'm sure you would like to know that, wouldn't you?” she said, before she turned on her heel and disappeared around a corner. 

 

Well. That had been unusual.

 

~ ~ ~

 

They'd all heard of the outbreaks of the sweat in the country; Anne herself had comforted Henry after the death of his friend Compton – but few had thought it would really come to London, to the court. Surely the glamour which drew so many conferred its own protection, at least from death by disease? It was so easy to believe that, but of course it was nothing but an illusion. Anne knew that as she cradled her young maid, Mary Talbot's arrogance chased away by fear as she backed away from both of them. 

 

Sarah – for that had been the girl's name – was dead now, and Anne was in the carriage back to Hever with her father. Just as she claimed to be fine, her breath caught as her chest tightened. She could get no air, and she begged her father to stop the coach. Half-stumbling out, she tugged at her corset to loosen it, her breathing not helped by the tears clogging her throat. She thought that if she had just backed away from Sarah she would be fine now, and yet... 

 

It was ironic. Anne couldn't exactly regret that she was able to give the girl comfort in her last hours, but she didn't think anyone will do that for her should it come to that. Even Jane, who might, wouldn't be allowed to and she knew it. She even wondered, as she became light-headed and her legs shook, if Jane would be forced to take her place with Henry if she died. It was a grim thought. 

 

They made it to Hever and Anne managed to cross the threshold of her room before dropping to the floor in a dead faint.

 


	12. In These Small Hours

Jane hadn't, in all honesty, been surprised when her father told her that she was not to come to Hever. He was required to go since the King had told him to escort Anne, and of course Mama would be there, but none of the others were. George was at Wiltshire Hall with Tom, but Edward had business at Wolf Hall anyway and had been there for three days when the family had been forced to leave court. Jane decided to go there instead of to Wiltshire Hall, simply because she hadn't been to her family home in so long. 

 

It was strange to be back, when there was so little that was familiar. There were some things – for example, she remembered playing with the little doll she still had in a chest somewhere under that oak tree, and Tom jumping down from it to scare her. Sometimes Edward had been there instead, with one of his books, and it was there that he'd taught her to read. Walking the hallways, she occasionally felt flashes of half-formed memory, but nothing solid. 

 

Her state of mind didn't help. She was terrified for Anne, having heard nothing from those around her but horror stories about the Sweat since the outbreak began. It was impossible to imagine a world without her bold, vibrant sister, but there was a very real chance that was about to happen. And the disease could still come here, too... 

 

A knock at her door forced Jane away from her thoughts, and her jaw dropped when she opened it. “Your Grace,” she said, doing her best to steady the quaver in her voice as she curtsied to the Duke of Norfolk. What in God's name was he doing here?

 

“Mistress Jane,” he said. “We need to talk about what will happen if your sister should succumb to the plague.”

 

Jane stared at him. “What will...? I, I'm sorry, Your Grace, but I don't understand.” 

 

“No? Well, it's quite simple. If Anne does not survive this, the family – which you are a part of, by marriage – cannot afford to lose royal favor. So you will offer the King comfort, and in doing so, make him fall in love with you. Then everything can continue on as it is.” 

 

Jane just stared at him, feeling suddenly cold. Anne wasn't dead, might not die, and yet there was already a contingency plan if she did? A contingency plan, moreover, which involved her. “So what you are saying, Your Grace, is that if my sister dies, I am to take advantage of the King's grief to seduce him?” 

 

“Yes. It's really quite simple, are you such a fool that you need it spelled out for you, dear girl?” 

 

Jane bit her lip. “I simply wanted to be clear that my sister's own uncle doesn't care if she dies as long as there's someone in the wings to replace her, actually,” she said, only just managing to keep the quaver from her voice.

 

“Oh, so you have an objection to doing this,” Norfolk said derisively. “Well, that doesn't matter, you'll do as you're told, Mistress Jane. The world is changing, but men still rule, and you have no say.” He stalked out of the room, leaving Jane frozen in her seat. 

 

She didn't mention the visit to Edward. Obviously he knew of it, and he probably knew what it was about too. That preyed on her mind, and three days later, in the middle of dinner, she tossed down her napkin. “Would you even grieve for her at all?”

 

“What?” Edward said, looking confused. “Jane, what are you talking about?”

 

Jane scowled at him. “The Duke of Norfolk and his plan for me. You know about it, yes?” 

 

Edward sighed. “Of course, but Jane – ”

 

“No! Tell me, if Anne dies, would you even take a moment to grieve for Anne, our _sister_ , before shoving me into her place?” 

 

Edward raked a hand through his hair. “Jane... Of course I would. I don't want Anne to die. But if she does, that can't make our world come to a stop. We have to keep going, and Anne would understand that. I'm surprised that you don't.” 

 

Jane pushed herself away from the table. “Sometimes I think I understand all too well,” she said quietly, before leaving the room for the chapel. 

 

But after that, the possibility haunted her. And Jane had to wonder if, when she prayed for her sister to recover, if part of her fervency in doing so had nothing to do with Anne, and everything to do with avoiding having to become the King's lady. Because Jane did not want that, the King frightened her. She saw the heartbreak in Katherine's eyes, and remembered how even Anthony, one of the King's closest friends, could not defend him entirely. How could she want him? But for some reason, Anne seemed to, and so, it was less a punishment for her, if still just as risky. So was Jane really praying for her sister or herself? She didn't know, and she hated that.

 

~ ~ ~ 

 

Margery stood with her husband as Dr. Linacre entered Anne's bedroom. They were the only members of the family here; Mary had taken her son to Wiltshire Hall as soon as she'd heard that Anne was coming to Hever. She wasn't sure if the doctor's arrival boded well or ill, and she had a terrible headache that she could barely see past, much less think clearly through. She had been caring for Anne along with a few maids, and she was so tired...

 

She was terrified for Anne. The poor girl no longer knew where she was, delirious on the few occasions that she was actually awake. She called out in French and English, for her siblings and for the King, sometimes for her mother. And Margery wasn't sure if her stepdaughter meant her, Elizabeth Howard Boleyn, or perhaps both of them. She never called out for her father, though. Somehow Margery didn't think her husband would care that much if he knew.

 

The doctor came out and the grave look on his face said it all. Thomas swore under his breath, but he sounded more angry and resentful than sad. Margery might have considered slapping him if she didn't feel so ridiculously tired, her chest tight. She reminded herself to take deep breaths, as the physician her husband had summoned last year had told her. She couldn't afford to let herself get too agitated. 

 

“In my opinion,” the doctor said quietly, “there is nothing to be done. The vital signs are weak and fading. The priest should attend her now, in extremis. I'm sorry.” He paused, and then squinted at Margery. “Lady Wiltshire, have you been attending your daughter?” 

 

“I... Yes,” Margery said, her own words echoing strangely in her ears. What was wrong with her? 

 

That was the last thought she had before her legs collapsed beneath her. 

 

~ ~ ~

 

Henry had not intended to flee the court, but when his manservant had collapsed at his feet, he knew he had to. He could not risk remaining where the contagion was continuing to spread, even if it made him feel a coward. And he did feel like one, for running from court, for running from Anne. Would a true lover remain at her side, risking his own health for her sake? 

 

Perhaps. But he was King. Above all he had a duty to his people, a duty which drove him to his knees in prayer. He prayed for himself, for his kingdom, and for Anne, fighting back the terror and the sorrow. Why was God doing this to his realm? Was it the marriage to Katherine? Was He displeased that Henry, having been slow to reach the truth, was as yet unable to remedy things? But he was trying, couldn't God see that? He was trying, it was Wolsey who couldn't manage it, the Pope and the Emperor who were blocking him. 

 

His people didn't deserve this, Anne didn't deserve this, even if Henry himself deserved some sort of punishment for being so blind. But then, maybe this was his punishment, to be aware of the suffering around him and know it was because of him. God wouldn't go further and take Anne, would He? Not when she was to be Henry's first true Queen, and would help him wash away the sin he had committed with Katherine? Surely he could not be so cruel. 

 

Henry just didn't know. He felt, horribly, as though God had forsaken him, forsaken him and England. Some people might try to tell him that this was a sign that he should return to Katherine, that he had been wrong, but he knew better. God's will had been far too clear before this moment, and it was still obvious to Henry that it was the marriage to Katherine which was angering God. The Sweat had to be a sign that he, Henry, was not acting quickly enough. He'd hoped that God would forgive the slowness, understand that he was trying, but... 

 

It seemed not. But Henry vowed that he would redouble his efforts. He prayed for mercy, and promised that he would not rest until he had put his sin to rights. And if God was truly merciful, then He would spare Anne. If not... Henry couldn't bear to think of it.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Something was wrong with her mother. Mary knew it, even though Mama was as happy to be with her as always. Her smiles no longer reached her eyes as completely as they once had, and she seemed upset. Normally, Mary would think she was just worried about Papa, but everyone said Papa was well and in a safe place, so that couldn't be it. But then what was wrong?

 

She had a terrible feeling that she knew. Eavesdropping was wrong, Mary knew this, but she also knew that she was old enough that she had to know if important things were happening. She was the Princess of Wales, she would be Queen one day, and she needed to know if something was wrong. And, from what she had heard, something definitely was. 

 

The something was a lady named Anne Boleyn. Mary didn't know anything about this Lady Anne or where she came from, just that her Papa thought he was in love with her. And she must have told him all kinds of lies and worked some kind of evil magic, because he now thought Mama wasn't his wife and Queen and wanted to replace her with this Lady Anne.

 

Mary didn't understand why Papa was fooled by these lies, but part of her wondered if it was her fault. She'd heard one of her ladies saying something about a son, and she knew what that meant. Mary wasn't a fool, even if she was still young, and she knew that her Papa wanted a son, a prince to be King after him. She had always been made to pray for the birth of a little brother, for as long as she could remember. But she thought, she had been so sure, that her hard work at her lessons had proved to her father that he didn't need a boy, that she could be as great a queen as her grandmother Isabella had been in Spain. Her Mama said she could be and she had tried so hard to prove it. 

 

Surely she had proved it, and it was all this woman's fault for tricking Papa. And now her Mama was unhappy and worried, for no reason at all. “Mama, Papa won't really try to divorce you, will he?” she asked, needing to know, suddenly, that she was right about this.

 

“ _Mi cielo_ , where do you hear such things? Who has been telling you about it?” her Mama said, frowning.

 

“No one, Mama, I...” Mary turned bright red. “I know that I should not, but no one tells me things and I need to know, so I listen to other people talking about things.”

 

Her mother's face was stern, but there was understanding in her eyes. “Mary, you must not do that. Such behavior is not worthy of a princess, the future Queen of England. But, since you have heard things that you should not, I will tell you that people are making your father believe that he is not married to me.” She cupped Mary's face in her hands, looking her straight in the eye. “But that does not matter. I am sure that your father will see the truth in time. I simply have to stay strong until then, and you may have to as well. I would have kept this from you, my dear one, to spare you pain.”

 

Mary shook her head. “But Mama, if I'm going to be Queen, I should know, so I can help.”  


Katherine smiled sadly. “Then you are growing up, my Mary, and I am proud of you.” 

 

Later that night, though, Katherine gripped her rosary in white-knuckled hands, her confidence draining away. She believed that the idea of divorce had not begun with Henry, but she knew him so well. Once he took an idea to heart, he was so stubborn, and he tended to cling to it even if deep down he knew better. She would fight, of course, because she was in the right, but when she was alone she sometimes wondered if fighting would really do her any good.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Kendal Castle seemed so small after Whitehall and Ludlow, especially now, Katherine Parr noted bleakly. She had left her place in the service of Princess Mary to come home, despite the sweating sickness, because her mother had died. The irony was that she had not even died of the Sweat. Their home was all but free of the illness. It had been an accident, a fall, and Maud Parr had hit her head on the flagstones and died hours later. 

 

Technically, Kate's brother Will was head of their family now, and really he had been since he was three, after their father's death, but it had been Maud who ran things. And Will was only twelve now, old enough to have begun learning to take responsibility for his inheritance but not old enough to control it. So Kate had to come home, to try and run the household the way her mother would have, the way her mother had taught her, but she wasn't sure if she could do it. Her father had left dowries for herself and her sister, but otherwise the family was not well off, having lost considerable income with Thomas Parr's death, when Kate had been only seven. Looking at the household accounts, she could see how her mother had cut corners wherever she could.

 

It looked like all the saved money had been funneled into supporting her younger siblings' futures, or for Kate, in making sure she had the funds to appear as a proper maid-in-waiting to the Princess. She received a small sum of money for her services, which by her mother's command she had been storing away, but now she would obviously need it, and whatever she could manage. She could do this, she had to do this. She was the oldest, and even if she was a girl, her age meant that her siblings were her responsibility. It was just that she was only sixteen, and a few weeks ago had been happily serving the Princess Mary, who was a bright, charming young girl. Now she sat at her mother's writing desk, in her mother's place in every way. It felt wrong. 

 

Shaking the thoughts away, she took up a pen and a piece of parchment, and then beginning a letter in her neatest script. It was to her future husband, informing him of the changes in her family and letting him know that she would still bring the promised dowry to their marriage, so he need not worry about that. If she were anyone but Maud Parr's daughter, she would have begged him for help, but her mother had managed and her daughter could do no less.

 

Still, after she had finished, scattering sand over the ink to dry it, she pushed herself from the desk and went to stand at the window, her fingers gripping tightly at the windowframe. She was too young for this, she wasn't experienced enough and she couldn't help but feel that she ought to beg for help. It was just that she would never forgive herself if she did.

 

~ ~ ~

 

He'd never expected the King to offer marriage. When Thomas Boleyn had told his daughter that he was washing his hands of her where the King was concerned, he had fully believed that Anne would either give in and become the King's mistress or put up such resistance that she would lose her allure for him. But neither of these logical predictions had come to pass, and now his daughter was to be the future Queen of England, now that she was recovering from her illness.

 

Anne had done well. Boleyn had always known that she would, had always planned to make her a great marriage. But now it seemed that Anne – and her siblings – were determined to make this match with the King happen on their own, without his involvement. That could not be allowed.   


Getting rid of Wolsey through Anne's influence would just be the start. Boleyn had his eyes set on higher prizes now that he knew he would one day soon be father-in-law to the King of England, grandfather to the King's heirs. He was happy enough to let Anne run the risks; she was a woman and if she was ruined her family could recover, after all. But he did not like the idea thaty things were slipping from his control now, not when there was so much advantage to be had. 

 

No, he would have to take this matter in hand once they were all back at court and things returned to normal. Jane had defied him, purposely angering Katherine of Aragon into dismissing her as a lady-in-waiting, but there was another potential spy out there for him. And, since the girl in question was not yet tied to their family, she would be more easily trusted. 

 

He needed only to draft a letter to a man he had already come to terms with, and who he knew would be amenable to helping the Boleyns. After all, his daughter would soon be one of them, and as such she would learn to do her part in the family business. No noble father could deny that this was necessary, especially not one whose mother could be seen quite easily as Anne's predecessor in many ways, a man who had seen his maternal family rise to the top and then fall into almost nothing. Elizabeth Woodville's son understood the cost of power, and Boleyn knew that turning his future daughter-in-law into a spy would not be something her father would object to.

 

It was time that he regained control of the situation. Anne and her siblings had done well so far, but the thought that they might try to do this without him could not be allowed. Boleyn would not allow it.  


~ ~ ~

 

The Sweat was abating, though for now most of the dispersed courtiers were staying in their country homes, avoiding any chance of being caught by a final flare of sickness. Edward, like them, had chosen to remain at Wolf Hall, though Jane had left for Wiltshire Hall as soon as she heard that Anne was recovering from the Sweat, both to see their sister and to check on their mother, whose weak heart had caused her to collapse once again. 

 

He was relieved that Jane was gone when a servant told him that Thomas Cromwell had come calling, a visitor he would never have expected, not here. He had the same servant show Cromwell into the study – Edward still wasn't entirely used to the study being his, not when he remembered his father sitting at this desk when he was small – and leave wine for them, which he offered to his guest.

 

Filling two goblets, he handed one to Cromwell and settled back in his chair. “Mr. Cromwell. This is a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?”

 

“Straight to the point, I see, Mr. Seymour – or I suppose, Sir Edward, since I believe the King knighted you just before the Sweat broke out?”

 

“Yes, he did – and I apologize, if we're going to use proper titles I should have called you Mr. Secretary.” 

 

“Oh, whichever address is fine for me. I thought it was time the two of us talked,” Cromwell said casually, as relaxed as if he were in his own home. The attitude irked Edward somewhat, but he kept it to himself, taking a sip of wine and lowering the goblet slowly.   


“Oh? What about?” Though Edward suspected that he knew. 

 

“I believe that you and I share certain... sympathies,” Cromwell said silkily. “I have seen you at meetings in London which I also attend, meetings that could get us both in a great deal of trouble were our involvement discovered.”

 

“Ah, that. I have to say, I was wondering if we might one day have this conversation.”

 

“So you expected this.”

 

“I would say rather that I'm not surprised. So both of us wish to see England freed from Papal thraldom. We're hardly the only ones, so what is that shared belief to me?” It was, perhaps, a bit risky to speak so to a man who was becoming more and more influential at court, but Edward wanted to push Cromwell a little, make him the first to break cover. 

 

Cromwell's eyes narrowed. “The King is seeking an annulment from the Pope. But, with the Pope still under the control of the Emperor, who's to say he will oblige the King? If the Bishop of Rome fails the King, don't you think he would look elsewhere?”

 

Edward toyed with the dull knife he used as a letter opener, eyes never leaving Cromwell's face. “That is indeed a possibility, though as I understand it, Cardinal Wolsey has sent men to Rome to speak with the Pope.”

 

Cromwell nodded. “He has, yes, but I'm afraid that Foxe and Gardiner were only partially successful. The annulment has not been granted; instead there is to be a trial here in England, presided over by Wolsey and the Cardinal-Protector of England, Cardinal Campeggio. It could be that the Pope has ordered this in good faith, but...”

 

“But you think otherwise.” 

 

“I think it is a very useful delaying tactic, and Clement is fond of such things. If that is true, and the trial does not give the King his desired outcome, then that would seem to be a good time to turn his eyes to other methods. Of course, the only one who could do that would be the Lady Anne herself, but her beliefs on this matter are something she seems to keep quiet.” 

 

Edward only just managed to bite back a laugh. So, was this what Cromwell wanted from him? Of course, in theory he could tell the Secretary where his sister stood, but why would he do so outright? Cromwell was not on their side, he was on his own side, that much was clear. For the moment, there was a very good chance their interests dovetailed and would continue to do so. But if that ever changed Edward was sure Cromwell would desert them without a moment's hesitation. Still, it would be wise to cultivate Cromwell's friendship for the moment, as it could only help the family goal of making Anne Queen. Especially if Cromwell's suspicions about Anne's beliefs were strengthened, even obliquely.  


“And I have no right to divulge my sister's private beliefs,” he said mildly. “However... Anne is a great admirer of Marguerite of Angouleme. Make of that what you will.” 

 

After Cromwell left. Edward drummed his fingers on his desk, considering this new development carefully. Cromwell had come to him, not to his stepfather, which could mean any number of things, but was certainly surprising. But then, at the moment the younger members of the family were in charge. However, in light of Norfolk's visit to Wolf Hall to speak with Jane still so recent, Edward knew that his stepfather and the Duke would not be content with that state of affairs much longer. 

 

As for Cromwell, if he'd taken the hint about Marguerite of Angouleme the way Edward had intended, they might have gained a strong ally, at least for the moment. That would certainly be an advantage to them. But none of this could really be put into play until they all returned to court, which Edward for one was impatient to do.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Anne couldn't forget what her father had said to her. She had come through what had seemed like a lifetime of feeling that she was being burned alive, of delirium and terror in her more lucid moments, to a tired numbness, and that was what greeted her. Her father's genuinely happy words, but the happiness had nothing to do with her, not really. 

 

_“Do you know what you've done, child? You've risen from the dead. Now you can see the King again, and everything can be just as before.”_

 

Didn't he know how much that hurt her? To know that her very life only mattered to him because the King was in love with her? Even the letters from her brothers and Mary expressing their relief that she'd recovered, even Jane's tight hug or her stepmother's weary smile when Anne came to visit her could not erase the pain. She didn't know if anything could. 

 

It had been brought home to her now that she did not matter to her father – or her uncle, if Jane's story, accompanied by tears, was to believed – except as a game piece in the quest for more royal favor. Even her brothers would have supported the idea of Jane taking her place had she died, Anne knew this. But at least they would have genuinely mourned her, even as they took steps to ensure that her death did not ruin their hopes. 

 

That, Anne could understand, to an extent. It was sensible and practical, and though the thought that she was replaceable stung, it didn't carry the same kind of pain. Because she knew that her brothers and sisters would actually grieve for her as a person and their sister, not just as their stepping-stone to greater places at court. She was not at all sure that her father or her uncle would have. 

 

Were all men like that? Did any of them care for women entirely for themselves, and not as game pieces? Anne didn't know, and it was a bleak prospect to consider the possibility that they did not. 

 

Now she sat on a blanket on the grass, her horse beside her, waiting for Henry. She heard another horse approaching and looked up to see Henry quickly dismounting, staring at her as though he could not quite believe that she was real. The intense joy in his eyes made her breath catch in her thrat, and she stood, spreading her arms out to embrace him. 

 

He caught her up in his arms, drawing her into a tight hold and kissing her passionately several times before simply pulling her against him. She rested her head in the crook of his neck, his chin resting on her hair and his fingers carding through the dark locks. “Thank God,” she heard him whisper, and for some reason his clear joy lanced right through her. 

 

He was happy that she had lived. Not for any reason except because he loved her, for herself. It was what she had wanted all along. This knowledge struck through the chill her father's behavior had left her with, and before she knew it she was crying, sobbing, her tears wetting his shoulder. 

 

“Sweetheart, what is it?” Henry said, truly alarmed. She couldn't tell him, she didn't want him to be angry. So she simply clung to him.

 

“I was so afraid,” she whispered, and that too was the truth, she had been terrified that she would die. Upon hearing this, he pulled her even closer, whispering in her ear in what she thought might be Welsh, and part of her decided she would have to ask him later how he had learned to speak it. But for now she just let him hold her, knowing that he loved her, and that she loved him just as much. She had doubted herself on that score, but now, now she knew. She loved him, and she would always love him, whatever might come next for them.


	13. Tangling Threads

Henry frowned at his friend, not liking Anthony's request. The papal legate – Campeggio – was en route from Rome, but was taking what seemed to Henry an excessive amount of time even for an older man riddled with gout, and he wanted his friends around him. Both Anthony and Charles were on his side in this, even if his own sister was not – and actually, only Margaret was against it; their older sister Mary, in Scotland, had written to him saying that she supported him. She would, having made an unsatisfactory second marriage herself, though Henry felt she had no real grounds for the annulment she was seeking. Her support was still nice to have. 

 

“Why would you want to leave court, Anthony?” he asked, a faint note of irritation in his voice.

 

“Not permanently, Your Majesty, not even for very long,” Anthony hastened to assure him. “At least I don't think so. But, you see, I've received a letter from the girl I'm betrothed to, Katherine Parr. Her mother has just died, her father is long dead, and her brother is a boy of twelve. She's sixteen and left in charge of her family. I'm not supposed to marry her until next year but under the circumstances I think I should move that up, so I can help her.”

 

Henry nodded. That made sense, and was no less than an honorable man should do. “She has asked for your help?”

 

The other man laughed wryly. “Oh no. In fact she was quite adamant in her letter that I had nothing to worry about, that she had things well in hand and would still be able to provide the full dowry agreed on. But I can't see how my leaving her and her siblings to shift for themselves is right and proper, whatever she says.”

 

Henry shook his head. “A woman with an independent streak,” he quipped. “I can certainly sympathize. For such an errand, of course you have my permission, Anthony. I do hope you'll be back for Christmas, though – and bring your stubborn new wife to court with you. I would like to meet her, if she's going to be married to one of my good friends.” 

 

Anthony nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing and leaving when Henry indicated that he could do so. Alone, Henry leaned back in his chair, an amused smile on his face. Anthony, married. It was an idea that seemed somehow odd to Henry, since he could remember in their schoolroom days that it was a younger Anthony who had declared he would be a bachelor forever, and in fact was the least womanizing of their circle of friends. But then, as he had told William before the Sweat and his friend's death, everything was different now, wasn't it?

 

Pushing the thoughts aside, he opened the latest letter from his son's governess. He had the woman write to both him and Bessie, as he still remembered her fondly and she deserved to know how their son fared as much as he did. Little Fitzroy was thriving in his home at Sheriff Hutton Castle in Yorkshire, and the governess' detailed report put a wide smile on Henry's face. 

 

“Good news, Your Majesty?” said a laughing voice. Henry looked up and his smile widened still further at the sight of Anne. He hadn't known she was back at court already.

 

“Sweetheart! When did you get back?” he said, standing and crossing the room to embrace her. She returned his hug and the kiss that followed, before pulling back and giving him an impish smile. 

 

“Just a few hours ago; I wanted to surprise you. Can I ask what had you smiling so widely when I came in?”

 

“You can ask me anything you like. As it happens, I was reading a letter about my son, the Duke of Richmond. His governess says that he is thriving.” For a moment he regretted his words, wondering how Anne would feel about his attention to his illegitimate son, but her soft smile made him relax. 

 

“No wonder you're so pleased. He'll be a credit to you when he's older, I'm sure.” 

 

Henry kissed her cheek. “I'm sure that he will. You know, I should have him come to see me at Christmas. You're to be his stepmother, you should meet him. I'd never put him above the sons we will have, but he should be welcomed into our family anyway, don't you think?”

 

Anne tilted her head, and there was a look in her eyes that he did not understand, though it didn't appear to be negative. Then she nodded, smiling more widely. “I'd like that.” 

 

“Good. Now, sit with me and tell me all your news. I know your stepmother was feeling poorly, has she recovered? And is the rest of your family back at court?” 

 

His future wife laughed as she moved to sit in a chair and was pulled onto his lap instead. “You have to give me a chance to answer your questions before you ask more of them, Henry!”

 

Henry laughed, and then listened as Anne began to talk, simply enjoying the sound of her voice.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Catherine Grey had always thought that, when the time came for her to go to court, that she would look forward to it, but as it turned out her excitement was tempered with nervousness. She was going to be a maid-in-waiting to the Queen, Katherine of Aragon, and her father was the King's first cousin of the half blood, but she would be at her royal cousin's court as a spy. Her future father-in-law, the Marquess of Wiltshire, insisted that she begin to do her part as one of his family. 

 

But she wasn't going to let that scare her. Cat was not someone with a particular sense of ambition; she wanted a place at court as a husband who would at least treat her with courtesy, but that was all. She was too practical to long for more that might not be, though it seemed that it would. Her future sister-in-law would be the next Queen of England if the King had his way, and she couldn't help but see a certain parallel. 

 

It made her think of an old, leather-bound journal hidden in the bottom of one of her bags, her most prized possession. Her grandfather had given it to her before he died, telling her that of his family, she deserved it. “You're not as like her in temperament, but when you grow up, you'll be the very image of my mother and so you should have this. Let her guide you, God knows you'll need her advice,” he had told her.

 

Elizabeth Woodville. Her great-grandmother, the woman who had captured Edward IV's heart and risen to the highest rank a woman in England could based solely on her looks and charm. A woman not so different from Anne Boleyn in that sense, if the rumors were true. And Cat was to marry her brother, George Boleyn. It would make her the Countess of Ormonde, and kin to the most favored family at court. 

 

All she had to do was spy on the Queen of England for them, to tell them everything she saw and heard. 

 

Part of her balked at the idea, since she was to serve the Queen and surely owed Katherine of Aragon her loyalty because of that. And yet... As her grandfather had seen, she might carry the last name of Grey, but she was a Woodville at heart. She could be nothing else, when her mother had died when she was little and the only female guidance she'd had came from her great-grandmother's journal. And as a Woodville, she understood that family loyalty came first, that supporting the family was what had to be done, especially in these circumstances.  


Cat knew that she didn't have a choice. She was going to be a Boleyn; therefore she had to cleave to them and support them. It was the only way to proceed, whatever the cost.

 

It made her nervous, but when she closed her eyes, breathing deeply to calm herself down, she almost thought that the wind outside sounded like someone singing, like her water goddess ancestor, Melusina, was known to do, and it made her feel better. This was the right move for her, then. It might be a silly thing to believe in, half family legend and half pure superstition, but it hadn't failed her yet, and she would need that bit of security now.

 

She kept it in mind when she and the other new lady were presented to the Queen, and then conducted to the chamber they would share. Thankfully, there were two small beds, not one larger one to be shared, likely because both girls were relations to the King.

 

Jane Parker's father, Lord Morley, was a more distant relation than Cat herself was, but it was still a blood tie, enough to command some measure of respect and to give the girls something in common. But Cat didn't like Jane, for some reason. Something about her sly, dark eyes... She couldn't put her finger on it. But even that didn't matter, because as long as they could be civil, it was enough. 

 

Cat wasn't here to worry about that.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Ann – currently alone in the Lady Anne's apartment since Mary Talbot had slipped away to speak with her father – looked up in surprise from the pamphlet she was reading when her mistress stormed into the room, slamming the door shut and tossing her hat to the floor. “My lady? Is everything all right?” 

 

Lady Anne gave her a slight smile, one that was clearly forced. “Nothing you can help me with, Mistress Stanhope,” she said, her voice tight with frustration. “Though I wouldn't mind having something else to think about for a little while. What is that you're reading?”

 

Ann tensed slightly, because she'd actually been planning to put her reading material away before anyone else came back. She wasn't entirely sure of the Lady's religious sympathies, after all, so it was risky even to have it. But it was a little late for that at this point. “It's a printed version of a sermon given by a preacher called Hugh Latimer, my lady. It maligns the clerge for abusing the privileges granted to them, privileges which they should not even have in the first place.”

 

The other woman brightened a little at the explanation, to Ann's relief. “When you're done with that, I would like to read it,” Lady Anne said.

 

“I can give it to you now, if you like,” Ann said with a shrug. “My brother gave it to me months ago, I almost know it by heart at this point.” She closed the pamphlet and held it out in a silent offer, and Anne took it from her. 

 

“Thank you. And your brother... Michael, isn't it? I believe he and my brother Edward are good friends, from their Cambridge days.” 

 

“They are, my lady. From what Michael's said, your brother spoke of all of his siblings often, especially when he'd just gotten letters from one of you. I have to admit, that always worried me since I know my brother, and he'd offer story for story where he could.” 

 

Anne flashed her a slightly wicked smile. “I should think we'd both have to worry on that score, Mistress Stanhope, especially if my brother saw fit to share some of the pranks I used to pull on him, and would rope our sister Jane into joining in with. We only meant to make him a bit less serious, of course.” 

 

Ann smirked. “I have a feeling my brother took delight in sharing how I learned to scare off potential husbands when I didn't like them, though really one was old enough to be my grandfather and the other was rather simple. My father's ability to select suitors was not really what I would have wanted,” she said wryly. 

 

Anne laughed. “Well, I hope that your brother's selection is better, as I can't have any of my ladies causing mischief. Or... Edward mentioned that your brother is...”

 

“Illegitimate? Yes, he is, and my only legitimate brother is also dead, so actually my future is more or less in my own hands at this point.”

 

“Which would bring you to court.”

 

Ann nodded, because that much was obvious. Of course it brought her to court; where else would she be able to catch anyone's attention? Not that she had anyone in mind even as a fleeting thought, she told herself firmly, and resolutely did not think of blue-gray eyes giving her a sharp look.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Cardinal Lorenzo Campeggio's arrival at the English court had not been a pleasant one. He had walked right into a horribly tense situation, and his attempts to calm things down with suggestions of compromise had come to nothing. It was a pity that the Queen was not inclined to enter a nunnery, though it was really the best option for all concerned. He had not really thought that before he came, since he believed that the royal marriage was valid and true, but Cardinal Wolsey had convinced him.

 

Oh, it wasn't the other man's words that had done it, it was his tone, and the hunted look in his eyes. He was a man in trouble, and he knew it. Campeggio knew Wolsey well enough to know that the English cardinal was not a man to be easily spooked, and between that and the intransigence of both halves of the royal couple, this situation was a deeply unpleasant one. 

 

He had spoken with Thomas More and Ambassador Mendoza, as well as read the petition from the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk and the Marquess of Wiltshire, but he wanted a more objective opinion of the situation now. So he beckoned to the Scottish ambassador, Alexander Fraser. He knew the man; he had served as an assistant to the Scottish ambassador in Rome before receiving his own independent placement in England. Fraser was an observant, unobtrusive sort, who could be trusted to always have his ear to the ground. If he could manage to follow the threads of rumor in the Vatican, he could do so here.

 

“Master Fraser.”

 

“Your Eminence. It is a pleasure to see you once more.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Campeggio said, waving off Fraser's solicitous inquiries about his family. “Tell me, how long have you been stationed here in England now?”

 

“Four years next month, Your Eminence. Why do you ask?”

 

Campeggio led the man away from the courtiers who were watching the dancing, off to a more secluded alcove. “I know your talent for finding out many things at your postings, even things which were not supposed to be known to you, and I would avail myself of that knowledge. These Boleyns, who are they, and what power do they bring to bear?” Katherine had the Emperor. Who did Anne, who for obvious reasons Campeggio did not plan to meet, have on her side?

 

“Well, as you know already, I am sure, her father is the Marquess of Wiltshire and her uncle is the Duke of Norfolk. Her brother-in-law, Henry Percy, is the Earl of Northumberland, and between him and Norfolk, they more or less rule the north.”

 

“So the Lady would have much support in that part of the country?”

 

Fraser shrugged. “Difficult to say. The northerners are fiercely conservative in their religion, and the Lady Anne, it is rumored, supports reform, but with her family's influence there, it is possible that they will support her. There's also the Irish nobility; Lady Anne's brother George holds the title of Earl of Ormonde by courtesy, and the Ormondes are second only to the Fitzgerald Kildares in terms of power and influence in that circle.”

 

Campeggio nodded, frowning. His eye fell on a blonde woman that Anne stopped to hug and laugh with for a moment, before she continued her rotation around the room, toying with the King by shooting him provocative looks. “And she has stepsiblings, yes? The Seymours? What of them?”

 

“Well, Jane is the sister; she was the one Lady Anne was just greeting. They're extremely close, Mistress Jane is shy but rumor has it that she flared up at the Queen herself for speaking ill of Anne. There are two brothers as well, Edward and Thomas. Thomas seems to me to have a lot of ambition but little sense to go with it; his brother is also ambitious, but he is highly intelligent. They have little influence in their own right but I would still consider them useful allies to the Lady.”

 

Campeggio pursed his lips in thought. It was not what he wanted to hear. He had hoped that the Lady's connections were not exalted enough to risk trouble, but it sounded as though she might well have a power base in England. That would not affect the international situation, of course, but the King claimed that he needed a son to avoid civil war in England. So the domestic situation did need to be considered as well; no one involved in this wanted to push England into civil war. 

 

He had been right to wish that this responsibility could have gone to anyone but him. He did not want to be the one who made these decisions, not for this.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Being out of his depth was not a feeling Hal was particularly accustomed to, but just now he felt as though he was on the verge of drowning in plots. He was standing with his father-in-law the Marquess of Wiltshire, as well as the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, and really he had _no idea why_. His father-in-law had never had much time for him before, same thing for Norfolk, and he didn't even know Suffolk.

 

At a guess, it was because he was the Earl now that his father had died, so he was now considered worthy of being involved in the plotting. He knew from Mary and his own observations that the King was in love with Anne, and the divorce from the Queen meant that he would marry Anne once free of Katherine of Aragon. He also knew, from Edward and George's warning, that the three men he was speaking to meant to use that to bring down Wolsey. As he had once been in the Cardinal's service, like his brother-in-law Tom, they might consider that useful.

 

For his part, Hal wished that they still considered him beneath their notice. He didn't want any part of this. Helping Anne to become Queen was one thing; it was what the King wanted and he liked his sister-in-law so he wanted her to be happy. And the King's argument about the Queen's barrenness might even have merit; surely the need for a son was real. Not to mention, those with plotting skill were handling that part of it, and he didn't need to. 

 

“I never saw anything that would suggest the Cardinal is a traitor, or anything but a talented servant of the King's,” he said finally when Norfolk pressed him. It was the truth. He'd even seen the King once use an unsettlingly quiet voice, one that had scared him half to death and had clearly shaken Wolsey. It was after that when he overheard Wolsey saying to Thomas More something about how the King should only be told what he ought to do, not what he could do. 

 

Hal didn't think that the Cardinal ruled the King, not really. He suspected that the Cardinal had what he had only through the King's grace, and that no one was more aware of that than Wolsey himself. But saying that wouldn't do any good.

 

“That's not the point,” Wiltshire said with an air of exaggerated patience. “And besides, I have the evidence that Wolsey steals from the King, so that's not true at all. However, even if it were, he still wields far too much power for one of his birth, power he has no right to. And so he must be brought down.”

 

“Why don't you and I talk, Northumberland?” Suffolk said with obviously feigned geniality, slinging an arm around Hal's shoulders. Not given much choice as the broader man steered him away, Hal simply followed with an internal sigh.

 

“What do you want, Suffolk?” he said, only just keeping the irritation from his voice. 

 

“I don't think your heart's in this, is it?” Suffolk asked. “You don't seem to have anything against Wolsey, not from the way you talk about him, at any rate.”

 

Hal shrugged. “I don't. He was always a good master to me, and I think he works in the King's best interests.”

 

“And his own. But it is in no one's best interests but Wolsey's if he remains in power. The King should not be led like a child's pony, and that is what Wolsey is doing to him. Also, he supports France perhaps even above England.” From the way Suffolk spoke, he sounded as though he really believed what he was saying. It made Hal a bit more sympathetic to him, but only a little.

 

“But, Your Grace, a question, if I may?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“It may be true that Wolsey serves himself, even above the King. But while men like my father-in-law and Norfolk want to replace him in influence, who will take on the work he does? Because there is a lot of it, I saw that firsthand, and if none of you are, then someone else surely will. You do know that, don't you?”

 

Suffolk, it seemed, had nothing to say to that.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Edward did not hate dancing, as his siblings claimed, but it was not his favorite pastime. However, since Hal had been waylaid by his stepfather, Norfolk, and Suffolk – a fate Edward had to admit he would not want to face himself – Mary was without a partner, and unfortunately one of Edward's weaknesses was the pleading looks all three of his sisters had perfected. He blamed the French court for that. He had to blame someone. 

 

The first set was easy enough, more a group dance than a couples' one, and he and Mary danced with George and Jane. But unfortunately, the next set came before Edward could escape, and Mary had slipped away to rejoin her now-escaped husband. He couldn't find Jane, and so had no choice but to offer his hand to whoever happened to have ended up beside him. He didn't really look, irritated to have been dragged out and then left behind.

 

“Is something wrong, Sir Edward?” The laughing voice belonged to Ann Stanhope, though Edward, his gaze caught by a pair of dancing gray eyes, had already recognized the woman. Michael's sister, he reminded himself. His best friend's sister, so there should be no problem dancing with her. At least she was not a stranger. 

 

“No, why do you ask?” he responded, not wanting to explain about his siblings. 

 

“You seem rather... out-of-sorts.”

 

Edward raised an eyebrow. “I don't see why that would matter to you.”  


Ann flashed him a wicked grin. “Oh, it doesn't,” she said, laughing. “It's just that I wanted to make sure it wasn't my fault. For all I know, you might have been annoyed to have me as a partner. And since you're such good friends with my brother, well, if we can't get along that will be awkward for poor Michael.”

 

Edward chuckled before he could stop himself, automatically pulling her closer as the dance directed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the King and Anne taking full advantage of that, but he wasn't really paying them any mind for once. “Oh, so all your concern is for Michael?” he said, his voice very dry.

 

“What else?” Ann said, more whispering in his ear than anything, before the dance required them to move apart again. “Though I suppose I could also claim sheer curiosity.”

 

“Why would you be curious about me?” Edward asked, his eyes on hers. 

 

“Haven't you noticed how dull most of the courtiers here are? You, on the other hand, don't seem to be.” The sly smile that crossed her face then roused his own curiosity, but her parting words didn't do anything to alleviate it. “And anyway, why not?” 

 

The dance ended and she slipped away from him before he could reply, and he only just managed to avoid being caught up in yet another dance. Moving back, he picked up a goblet of wine, toying with it and for once trying not to think too hard. _What just happened here?_

 

~ ~ ~

 

Anne, having stepped back with the King, happened to see what several of her siblings were up to, and a giggle escaped her before she could stop it. She bit her lip to try and calm down, but Henry glanced her way. “Sweetheart, what is it?” he asked, glancing around himself to try and see what was so funny. To him, it just looked like a normal evening at court. 

 

“Oh, it's nothing,” Anne said, feeling her cheeks heat up slightly. She shook her head. “I was just watching my siblings,” she explained. 

 

“And that... made you laugh?”

 

“Well, yes. Mostly because I saw things I can tease them about later.” Such as Edward's vaguely bewildered expression after dancing with Ann Stanhope, or Jane getting all flustered after noticing that her dancing partner, who couldn't have been older than sixteen, had turned bright red when she smiled at him. Jane never knew how to react when men noticed her, even after years in France, and as for Edward, well, being set off-balance by a woman would do her serious brother a world of good as far as Anne was concerned.

 

George was looking at her, and the same bright mischief she felt glittered in his eyes. Oh, this was going to be _fun_. But for now, she looked back to Henry, sobering. “Didn't you ever tease your brother and sisters, Henry?” She couldn't even imagine a family not filled with good-natured teasing. Even Mary, who had often been sulky, and Tom, who sometimes crossed the line into malicious teasing, especially with Edward, had been part of the jokes. They'd grown up with that, and even their letters, traveling from Wiltshire to Cambridge, to Northumberland, London, and across the Channel to France, had been filled with it.

 

The idea that Henry might not have had that made her oddly sad, and she decided then and there that their children would have what she'd had, if she had anything to say about it at all.

 

Henry hadn't replied, instead he was looking out at the dancers, his eyes slightly unfocused. “I guess we did, a little,” he admitted. “Margaret and I used to try and make Mary smile – she was always so conscious of her dignity as a princess, back then. I don't know when she lost that, she makes such a fool of us all in Scotland. Arthur was too separate from us all to tease, though Margaret and I came up with countless pranks to play on our household.”

 

“You and she were close, weren't you?” Anne asked, giving him a sympathetic look. 

 

“We were. But then she resented me over the Portuguese match, and then married my best friend. I wondered if she did it to hurt me.” 

 

Anne didn't think so. She wouldn't say it to Henry, not when Suffolk was an ally of her family's, but... Princess Margaret may have thought she hid it, but the look she had flashed at Suffolk, leading out pretty Elizabeth Darrell, had been pained enough to make Anne wince. And she was not the most sympathetic of women. “She wouldn't have, Henry. They fell in love, like us. They were just more reckless about it than we are being.” Well, more or less.

 

“Hmm. But why are we talking about family? Campeggio is sending his initial reports back to Rome, and then I am sure the trial will commence.” 

 

Anne smiled. “That's such a relief,” she said. “Our children will be like I was with my siblings, when we have them,” she continued, her voice vaguely dreamy. “Won't they? Happy, and joking?”

 

“They'll be royal, my love, they'll have to grow up too quickly. I know I did, when Arthur died.” 

 

“Oh, I know, but... We'll give them time to have fun, won't we?”

 

Henry looked at her, clearly finding the conversation a bit odd, but then he nodded. “Of course we will, my darling,” he said warmly. 

 

~ ~ ~

 

Kate didn't know why Anthony Knivert was here, not after she'd made it clear that there was nothing for him to be concerned about. He would still get the promised dowry, so he had no reason to be at Kendal Castle now. Still, she greeted him politely, albeit quizzically.

 

“Sir Anthony, I'm not sure why you're here, though of course it's a pleasure,” she said to him when he'd been ushered into the study her mother had used, that Kate herself now spent her days in. Looking him over, she saw that he didn't look _too_ different than he had the last time she saw him. Had she not known him, she would likely have recognized him. It had been over a decade ago, when she was just five years old and he had come to her father's funeral with his own father. He'd been about fourteen or so then. She had been five, and curious about the boy she already knew she was going to marry, but too shy and upset over her father's death to talk to him. He hadn't changed as much as she might have thought he would. 

 

“I know you didn't ask for my help,” he began, trailing off and running a hand through his already tousled hair. Offering her a sheepish smile, he continued, “I _wanted_ to help, though.”

 

Kate jerked her chin up, an automatic reaction that she almost regretted. “I don't need your pity,” she said, her voice clipped. 

 

His eyes narrowed, and Kate thought fleetingly that she'd found herself coming up against someone as stubborn as she was. “I'm not offering pity. I'm going to be your husband, Katherine. I'm here because I'm responsible for you. I'd like to help because since we're to be married, I would like for us to be friends. Friends help each other.”

 

Kate bit her lip. She didn't want to accept pity or charity, but that didn't seem to be what he was offering her. If he was sincere... She didn't have any friends, not true, reliable ones anyway. There had been girls she'd gotten on with in the Princess Mary's household, but those had been little more than acquaintances. Could she really turn this down? 

 

Finally, she nodded. “All right, Sir Anthony. I'm not sure how you can help, though. We're not married yet, so you have no official...” Oh. It was obvious. “Unless of course you wanted to move up the wedding.”

 

“That seems to be the best idea,” Anthony agreed easily. “And, incidentally, my name is Anthony, or even Tony. Please drop the 'sir'.”  


 

Kate laughed, her first real laugh since her mother had died and left her to handle everything. “Then I'm Kate, Anthony. And... Thank you.”


	14. Before The Storm

Anne paced her room – well, her and Jane's, technically – with her eyes blazing and her expression dark. “I can't believe this! For months he's insisted on being more and more open about what we are to each other, and now, at Christmas, I am to be banished!” 

 

“It's not banishment,” Edward cut in, reasonable as always. “You'll be holding Christmas in your new London home of Durham House, and the King will come to you as soon as he can. God knows half the court will follow him. He's only doing this for the sake of appearances, on the advice of his lawyers. It's not a bad thing; in fact it's more proof that he's serious. He won't let any risk come to his case for the Legatine Court.”

 

“Assuming the court ever convenes,” George said sardonically. “What's Campeggio doing, anyway? Is he really ill, or just playing games?” 

 

“Probably both,” Anne said. “But it's still not right. I'm being sent away like a shameful secret! Campeggio hasn't deigned to see me, and now this!” 

 

“He can't see you, Anne,” Jane put in. “Officially, you have nothing to do with this. The King is basing all his arguments on the invalidity of his marriage, but he's pretending that if he could, he'd stay with Katherine. It's a sham and everyone knows it, but he feels that he has to do it. For official purposes, I guess.”

 

“You shouldn't worry,” Edward jumped back into the conversation. “Trust me, this is actually a good sign. Shoring up the technicalities means that the case will be stronger, and that's exactly what we all want.” Though he would never practice, Edward's course of study had been law, since religion, while an interest of his, wouldn't be quite as useful. Anne knew that, but even so, nothing any of her siblings said was as comforting as they meant it to be.

 

“It's just... I'm not his mistress,” she said quietly. “I do not take him to my bed, I'm as much a maid now as I was when I left home for France all those years ago. But this treatment makes me feel a harlot, even though I am not. And it isn't fair.”

 

She sighed, shaking her head. “And I'm starting to wonder if Father and Uncle aren't right about Wolsey. Campeggio's his friend, isn't he? So why can't he make Campeggio cooperate? I can't see why he'd be so foolish as to defy the King, unless he thinks he can wait Henry out, that I'll lose the King's love in time. Everyone thinks that, from the Queen down, but I know that won't happen, so they're all fools.” 

 

George and Jane exchanged worried looks, but Edward didn't even glance at them, his gaze intent on Anne. “Anne... This isn't just about love. You do know that, don't you?” 

 

She whirled on him. “Whose side are you on!?” she demanded.

 

“I'm sure Edward didn't mean anything by that,” Jane said hurriedly, shooting her brother a quelling look that he ignored.

 

“I'm on your side, Anne,” he continued, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. “Truly, I am. But the fact is, if the Queen had given him a son, love or not, he'd never divorce her to marry you, invalid dispensation or no. So it's not just about love.”

 

Anne opened her mouth to retort, but then closed it again. She sighed, sinking down onto the side of her bed, next to Jane. “I know that, thank you ever so much,” she said, her voice still holding an edge, but a more tired one now. “I'm just not sure that I can take much more of this.”

 

Jane put an arm around her sister's shoulder. “It's going to be fine, Anne,” she said, her voice soothing. “The King will get his annulment, and then you'll be Queen. It's going to be just fine, if you can just be patient.”

 

Even as she said it, Jane wasn't sure she believed it, and Anne wasn't sure if she was telling the truth either.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Ann wasn't entirely sure what to think about what Ursula had just told her. “You're sure?” she asked urgently, eyes dark. This was a potential problem for her mistress, if one of the King's most trusted friends was against her. 

 

Ursula nodded. “I'd hardly mistake him, he's one of the few at court who doesn't peacock around in whatever colors he can. Well, him and Cromwell,” she added after a moment's thought. “It's definitely trouble then?”

 

“I'm not sure,” Ann admitted honestly. “I guess it depends if his support becomes public rather than private, but I really don't know. I'll mention it to Sir Edward, though, and that way it's at least going to be known by the whole family.”

 

Ursula raised an eyebrow. “Do you know what I don't understand? Why it is that you're still going to the elder Seymour brother with your information.”

 

Ann shrugged, feeling herself tense up. Ursula wasn't just her friend; they were relatives. Their grandmothers had been sisters, and Ursula had lived in the Stanhope home for several years. They knew each other very well, and so this conversation wasn't a total surprise. “He was the easiest to approach, thanks to his friendship with Michael,” she said. And it was even true. 

 

Ursula raised an eyebrow. “True enough. But now that you've begun a tentative friendship with the Lady Anne, wouldn't it make more sense to start telling these things directly to her?”

 

Ann shook her head. “I think it makes more sense to keep to the pattern I've begun.”

 

The blonde shook her head. “Well, to be perfectly honest, I think that's ridiculous. If you want your mistress to see you as loyal, you should go to her directly, and you're more than capable of realizing that. So, Ann, what are you doing?”

 

Ann didn't answer, and didn't need to, since Ursula was signaled by one of the other ladies in the Queen's household, and had to go. The brunette told herself she wasn't relieved, even as her eyes scanned the room for Edward. She had to share what Ursula had told her, and quickly. It could be serious.

 

Seeing him, once again, being pushed into dancing by his older sister, she smiled to herself and maneuvered so that she would be partnered with him – Mary, it seemed, was only trying to make her brother socialize, since she took up a place with her husband. Edward raised an eyebrow when he saw who his partner was. “Mistress Ann.”

 

“Sir Edward.” She bit her lip, debating how to proceed, and then continued to speak, though not in English. Her brother's mother had been Irish, and Michael had learned Gaelic, in turn teaching it both to his sister, and, he'd mentioned, to his best schoolfriend. **“My brother says he taught you to speak Gaelic, yes?”**

 

**“He did, that's true. Why do you ask?”**

 

**“My friend in the Queen's household told me something today. She had the chance to overhear a conversation about strategy between the Queen and Bishop Fisher.”**

 

 **“We already know what their strategy is to be, it's obvious,”** Edward replied, before spinning her out and away from him, as the dance required.

 

When they were close enough to talk quietly again, Ann continued, _“_ **Yes, of course. But what you do not know is who brought Fisher to speak with the Queen.”**

 

**“And who was that?”**

 

**“Sir Thomas More.”**

 

 

His hand tightened on hers. **“What? Are you sure?”**

 

Edward was just as aware of the possible trouble here as she was, probably more so. Ann could see it in his eyes when she tells him she's sure. But then it was so obvious. A man like More, someone with the King's trust and a level of international respect, actively working against the Boleyn cause? That was not good news. 

 

“So long as he isn't public about it, it should be all right,” Ann heard Edward mutter to himself, his words English again as he'd probably not meant to say them aloud. Then he looks at her again, pale eyes sharp. “You know, I still don't understand why you keep telling me these things.”

 

Ann shrugged. “You do keep asking me that, don't you? Well, I suppose you're owed an answer. The simple one is that I think your side is the better bet in this, that's all.”

 

“And the complicated answer?”

 

“Too complicated to explain,” she replied sweetly. 

Pulling her in, he raised an eyebrow. “Somehow I doubt that. Are you trying to offer your services as a spymaster?”

 

“If you like,” she said with a wicked smirk, which hid the thoughts flashing through her mind. _What am I doing, Ursula? Would you believe me if I said I wasn't even sure anymore?_

 

~ ~ ~ 

 

Christmas at court was noticeably tense. The Queen had begun the holiday in high spirits, thinking that the absence of Anne Boleyn was a good sign, only to find out how wrong she was when the King treated her with cold, formal politeness. Now, well... 

 

Now she had been kneeling before her prie-dieu for hours, and her ladies had been forced to kneel with her. Jane Parker, among them, was really beginning to wish that the Queen would finish her prayers – her legs were starting to cramp up. Even worse, it felt like a torment to be here when everyone knew that the King and his gentlemen had left for Lady Anne's Durham House as quickly as was decent, and that there were true holiday revels there.

 

She didn't understand why Cat Grey, the girl she shared a bedchamber with, was here. Cat, the lucky thing, was betrothed to George Boleyn, who was handsome enough that Jane had wished she could be his future wife instead. Cat had the perfect excuse to follow the king, but she didn't. Jane wondered why, and then she saw the way Cat watched Queen Katherine.

 

Ah. Well then. The court was rotten with spies anyway, what was one more? Jane certainly didn't care what her fellow ladies did as long as it didn't affect her. She was here for one reason and one reason only, to make something of herself. The way to do that was to catch a husband, but Jane hoped for more than that. She was hoping for an ambitious man, someone she could scheme and plot with. She was the daughter of a titled man, but her father was of only modest means. Jane was his heiress, but even so, there were richer, prettier girls out there. She wouldn't net the best catch, not even with her hint of royal blood that made her a cousin to King Henry.

 

It didn't matter, though. If she could find the right man, a man who wanted to rise as much as she did and didn't care how he did it, a man who could use her inheritance to start them off, well... Then she would have all she needed. 

 

Cat wasn't a fool. She knew Jane Parker was watching her, but she didn't care either. Her job was to keep an eye on the Queen for her father-in-law, whatever she felt about the situation herself. And to be honest, she didn't know how she felt. The King needed a son, that was simple fact, but... 

 

Cat had seen the Queen stand up to her so-called counsel, and had been filled with admiration. Katherine of Aragon was a true royal, and though her future sister-in-law Anne was graceful and lovely, Cat knew that the other woman could never be Katherine's equal in that way. Of course, if one were to be honest, the King himself wasn't the Queen's equal in that regard either.

 

But it didn't matter, in the end. What the King wanted, he would have, one way or another. And he needed an heir, no one really wanted the Princess Mary except for her mother, perhaps the girl herself, and probably the Emperor. It wasn't fair, but practically speaking, the Queen shouldn't be fighting. She should be securing the best possible deal for herself and the greatest level of security for Mary. It was what Cat would do, if she were the one in the way of what the King wanted. 

 

So she kept her eyes open and her mouth shut, until she was called before her father-in-law. She couldn't stand him, but she had a duty to him. It wouldn't be forever; one day her husband would be the head of the family, and one thing she could say about George was that he had real blood in his veins rather than ice water.

 

The last of the wakeful ladies, aside from the always-loyal Anne Clifford and Elizabeth Darrell, was Ursula Misseldon, who was even more a spy than Cat. After all, hadn't she been pressed into service for two entirely different people? Ann was fine; they were old friends and she knew that Ann was, to some extent, playing the game for both of them. If Lady Anne won, Ursula's indirect help would gain her a place in the new Queen's household if she wanted it. If she wasn't married and secure by then.

 

But Thomas Cromwell... He was another matter entirely, wasn't he? He approached her three weeks ago, told her bluntly that he knew she was telling her friend Mistress Stanhope everything that went on in the Queen's rooms. He had no objection to that, he said, no reason to object; he simply wanted her to extend the same courtesy to him. 

 

Ursula wasn't stupid. If she'd said no, he would have told the appropriate people about her duplicity, and she'd have been out on her ear – if not worse. So there had been no choice, really. It wasn't like things had changed, she was still doing exactly the same thing, only now she was reporting twice. 

 

What bothered her was the way she hadn't even been able to consider saying no, because there was something about Cromwell and the way he'd watched her that made it impossible for her to do so.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Henry Fitzroy was getting to be a big boy now, with friends who called him Harry, a nickname that showed he was one of them even though they were all older. And because he was older, he was allowed to see his Papa for Christmas. He missed Mama, since she usually visited for Christmas, but this was exciting.

 

He was a little confused about not being at court much, though. He'd seen his Papa at court, but now he was at another house, bowing in front of his Papa and a woman he didn't know. She was pretty – almost as pretty as his Mama, which was very pretty since no one was as pretty as Mama. Papa lifted him up so that Harry could sit on his lap, and the lady smiled at him. He liked her smile; it was a little shy, like he was, but it met her eyes. 

 

“Harry, this is Lady Anne Boleyn. She's going to be my wife soon.”

 

Harry scrunched up his face in confusion. “But I thought you were already married, Papa.”

 

His father's face went all funny for a moment, and Lady Anne laid a hand on his arm. “You see, Lord Harry,” she said gently, “there was a mix-up, and your papa isn't really married at all. So we're just waiting for people to fix it.”

 

Harry blinked and nodded, not saying the first thing that came to his mind; why couldn't Papa marry Mama? But then, she was married too, and maybe there was nothing wrong with her marriage, even though his stepfather had nasty eyes. 

 

At least Lady Anne Boleyn had nice eyes, even if there was something a little funny about the way she smiled. Maybe it was because she didn't have any children and didn't know how to be a mama or how to talk to children. He couldn't help but think that he'd like having her as a stepmother, much more than he liked his stepfather. 

 

For her part, Anne had rarely felt less at ease than with Henry's little boy sitting on his father's knee, the boy's eyes, so much like Henry's, looking at her. He was a sweet child, seemingly unspoiled by his privileged lifestyle, but she didn't know how she felt about him. He was Henry's... talisman, in a way, more than a child. He was Henry's proof that his sonless marriage was not his doing. 

 

What if Anne failed him the way Katherine did?

 

She told herself she wouldn't, but there was no real way to be certain, was there? Henry loved her, she believed that, but Edward's words held a real ring of truth. If Katherine had provided Henry with a son, Anne would never be anything but a mistress, _maitresse en titre_ if she was lucky, no matter how much Henry loved her.

 

Harry Fitzroy, for all that he was just a child, was a symbol of Anne's almost-secret fears. It wasn't his fault, she knew that, but how was she supposed to accept the child when he was a pre-existing reprimand to any daughters she might have?

 

She would just have to try. Her stepmother had accepted her husband's children as her own; Anne could not dishonor the woman who was the only mother she'd ever known by doing any less.

 

~ ~ ~ 

 

Kate didn't know what to make of court, really. Her mother used to talk about it, now and then, and of course Princess Mary had technically presided over a miniature court at Ludlow, but this... 

 

For one thing, the real Christmas celebrations weren't even at court. They were at Durham House, the home of... Well. And that was another thing.

 

Just who was Anne Boleyn? The King's future wife? His mistress? Both? Kate had heard different stories. Cathy Willoughby, an acquaintance from her days with Princess Mary, was here with her mother, a friend of Queen Katherine's. She said that Anne Boleyn was a whore who had bewitched the King. However, Kate's husband, Anthony, said that he thought Anne genuinely cared for the King, if her stepsister Jane's opinion was anything to go on.

 

Oh, and there was Jane herself. Who seemed to be Anthony's closest friend next to the King and the Duke of Suffolk. Kate wouldn't call herself jealous, as she was fond of Anthony but not in love with him, but her husband's closeness to another, unmarried woman did give her pause. She didn't know Jane Seymour, after all. 

 

She didn't know anyone here, except Anthony, who was currently with his friend Brandon. They were talking in low voices over in the corner, it looked almost like an argument to her, but she couldn't guess what about.

 

“So you're Anthony's wife,” said a pretty blonde with pale blue eyes, who took the seat next to her. “I'm Jane Seymour, and your name is Katherine, yes?”

 

“Kate,” Kate corrected without thinking, and then she gave Jane Seymour a sharp look. “Is there something you wanted, Mistress Seymour?”   


The other woman shrugged. “I'm curious about you. You're married to a man who feels almost like another brother to me, not that I need more of them. I have three, and two of them are troublemakers and the oldest is far too serious for his own good. But at any rate, I wanted to meet you, especially since you haven't been to court before, have you?”

 

“I was in the Princess Mary's household, but we never mingled with the court proper, not really, even before the Princess was sent to Ludlow,” Kate said. “So no, I've never really been part of the court, even when the Princess lived there. But this isn't court, it's your sister's house.” It was a risk to say so, but Kate was already sick of the games and the rumors. Wouldn't anyone just tell the truth?

 

Jane bit her lip, her eyes straying to where her sister sat, laughing with the King. “Hasn't Anthony explained all this to you?” she asked, her voice tight.

 

“He says that the King is putting aside his wife and will marry your sister instead. But they're not married yet; isn't this inappropriate?”

 

The wry, vaguely pitying smile she got in reply to that statement was insulting. “Lady Knivert, what's appropriate at court is what the King wants, whatever that is. You'll want to be careful, if you're to stay here with Anthony.”

 

“Is that a threat?”

 

“No, it's a warning. You're my friend's wife, and you seem like a decent sort, but you're going to get yourself in trouble if you don't learn that whatever the King wants is what he will have. It's the most important rule at court, any court.” 

 

From everything Anthony had told her, from all her mother's old stories, and from what Kate was seeing with her own eyes, she'd already guessed that much. And it was not a comforting thought in the slightest.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“So More is firmly on Fisher and Katherine's side. Well, if nothing else that makes him a temporary ally against Wolsey,” Norfolk said thoughtfully. Boleyn glared at him. 

 

“Between them, they could win this case for the Queen and destroy my daughter's chances at the throne!” he hissed, eyes flashing. He clearly should not have shared Edward's news with his former brother-in-law. “More won't ally with us or anyone, he considers himself too unsullied to play politics.”

 

“I never said he'd _know_ he was our ally,” the other man commented silkily. “My point is simply that if Wolsey cannot secure the divorce now, his throat will be well and truly exposed, and we can go in for the kill. As for Anne... the King wants her, and your daughter is skilled enough in holding his attention that we can risk a little more time. We get rid of Wolsey, and then we get the divorce for the King. In the end, it all works to our advantage.”

 

If Anne could keep the King long enough. If something didn't happen to ruin them all. As far as Boleyn was concerned, there were far too many ways which this could go wrong if the Great Matter was not decided by this Legatine Court. “We don't want the Queen to win,” he said slowly. “But we do want the King to fear that she might. To suspect that Wolsey and Campeggio might support her against him, both of them together.” Perhaps his brother-in-law wasn't such a fool after all. It could work, if the right balance were achieved.

 

“Exactly,” Norfolk said, satisfaction in his voice. “More's an idealistic fool, and Fisher has a death wish, but they're both academically talented men, and their arguments will break the case Wolsey has set up, quite easily.”

 

Neither man was aware of someone listening, and when the conversation turned from the trial to more mundane things, George crept away, silent until he reached his brother's room. Opening the door without bothering to knock, he slammed it behind him. Had it been Thomas, he would likely have been greeted with a volley of curses – and possibly the shriek of Tom's latest bedmate – but as it was Edward, all he got was a cool glance over the top of a book.

 

His older brother really did need to learn to enjoy life a little more.

 

“George. Is there a reason you're storming into my room at this time of night? You're lucky I'm not like Thomas.” 

 

George smirked, taking the time to tease his brother despite the news he'd come to share. “Oh no? Then what is going on with you and our sister's lovely attendant? She seems to have quite the rapport with you.”

 

“Mistress Stanhope's brother is a schoolfriend of mine,” Edward said evenly. “That's all.”

 

“Oh, I'm sure,” Geroge drawled. “But as fun as teasing you about your new lady friend is, I've come by for something much more important. You told Father that Thomas More's been helping the Queen with her defense?”

 

“Ann told me,” Edward said, and George noted the use of the woman's Christian name for use in teasing later. Then he focused on what his brother was saying. “I told Father because I thought he should know, and I'm going to warn Anne... in a few days. She was upset earlier, and the last thing we need is for her to be shaken up even more by news such as this.”

 

“Father told my uncle Norfolk,” George informed him. “He seems to think that this is a good thing, since if it looks like the Queen might win Wolsey's position is weakened.”

 

“Well, he has a point, but it's a risky game to play when our futures hinge on the divorce going through.”

 

“My thoughts exactly. But that's not all you're thinking, not with your vague comments about how things might go if the Pope won't give the King what he wants.”

 

“What do you want, George? Just ask whatever it is you're wanting to know.”

 

“You, Anne, and I are all interested in the reformed faith. You mentioned that Cromwell's spoken to you as well, and he is a reformer. My question is, do we focus on helping to bring down Wolsey, or the Church?”

 

The look in his brother's pale eyes told George everything he needed to know. Suddenly, this was about a lot more than changing a Queen. This was going to be about changing their entire world.

 

Well. At least it would be interesting.


	15. Keep Calm and Carry On

It was actually happening. All the months of delays, whoever was behind them, and Katherine had hoped it would be enough time to make Henry reconsider. To take away the influence that the Boleyn girl seemed to have on him. But it had done nothing, except, perhaps, to make Henry all the more determined.

 

And was she really surprised? Katherine asked herself that as she took the crown she had chosen for today from its box – the onyx and the black of her dress suited how she felt – and had to admit that she was not. She knew Henry, knew him better than anyone ever had, including his new plaything. She had known him as a child, as her husband's sweet but spoiled little brother. She had known him as a boy trying to become a man despite his father's iron control. 

 

Katherine had been the one to make him love her then. 

 

So she knew Henry. She knew how he was when he was denied what he wanted. He would keep wanting it, and continue on, until he got what he wanted. Most of the time, Katherine would not try to deny him; she knew it would be fruitless. But this was different. She didn't believe that Henry really could have stopped loving her; he had loved her since he was that child she'd first met, the boy who had been so proud to escort her down the aisle in his white suit. 

 

And even if he had... It broke her heart to think of it, but even if he had, there was Mary. He would not put Katherine aside, even if his heart had turned from her surely he still loved their daughter. He wouldn't end their marriage, not when it would ruin Mary's future. She believed a lot of Henry, but she did not truly believe he would be capable of that. Not even for this girl he thought he loved. 

 

Henry would not do it. And Katherine would simply have to remind him that he could not, that she was his true wife and he could not leave her. He could have his new toy if he wished, but he could not abandon his wife to do it. It was an affront to God's will. Katherine wouldn't allow it, whatever it took.

 

She was the daughter of the greatest Queen Europe had ever seen, a child born and raised on the battle march. She would not give in, she would not break, whatever the consequences. Whatever the cost. Isabella had never given in, and neither would Katherine.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Anne was going to wear a groove in her floor if she didn't stop pacing, George decided. “Really, Annie, calm down. Working yourself into a frenzy over this isn't going to help matters any,” he told her, hiding his very real flash of concern under a teasing remark. 

 

Anne said nothing, only glared at him, and George sighed. “Jane said the two of you are going to watch from some secluderd area, behind a curtain? Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, if you're spotted...”

 

“I have to be there, George,” Anne snapped. “I understand that this is officially none of my concern, but that's just a pretty lie and everyone knows it. The truth is that this is my life being decided every bit as much as Henry's or Katherine's. I have to be there.”

 

“Edward or I could tell you. Or Tom, he'll be there too – though I'm not sure I'd trust his report as the most accurate.”

 

Anne shook her head. “I have to see it for myself,” she insisted. “Oh, and George? Don't call me Annie.” She smiled, a wan smile but a real one, and they both laughed. It was an odd moment for such a reaction, and George wouldn't deny that the laughter was weak, but it was real.

 

“Is something funny?” Jane asked from the doorway, Edward a half-step behind her. Judging from their expressions, they'd been having a discussion not unlike that which Anne and George had been having. George was willing to bet it had ended with more or less the same conclusion; the girls were going whether their brothers liked it or not.

 

“If it is, please share it, we could both do with a laugh,” Edward added, taking his by-now customary spot leaning against the wall. 

 

“You need to learn how to sit down,” George informed his older brother, rolling his eyes. “And as for what was funny, just Anne lecturing me about using a nickname for her the way you always do the rest of us, Ned.”

 

“Can we not start this particular fight today?” Jane cut in plaintively before Edward or even Anne could retort. “Honestly, sometimes I feel like _I'm_ the oldest one here, not the youngest.” 

 

“I didn't start a thing,” Edward replied, managing not to look the slightest bit unruffled. George considered teasing him about Ann Stanhope again, just to break through that composure and keep the heavy seriousness of the day from closing in on them all again, but he knew they couldn't afford it, not really. Not today.

 

Anne shook her head. “Well, we may as well go to our appointed places,” she said quietly. “This day isn't going to get any less stressful for any of us.” She lifted her chin and walked out of the room, leaving the three of them there – awkward, as it was her room. 

 

“She's pretending,” Jane said quietly. “Acting like she doesn't care, like it can't touch her.” 

 

“We know that,” George said. 

 

“But no one else will,” she countered. “And she's right, we really ought to go.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Ursula and Cat exchanged furtive looks as they walked behind their mistress on the way to Blackfriars Church. The two of them were both aware that they were outsiders among the Queen's women; Cat because she was tied to the Boleyns and Ursula because no one knew her all that well. So they'd struck up a tepid friendship. It was enough to have them looking at each other for this.

 

This, of course, was the wildly cheering crowds. They'd heard the calls for the King; mostly positive, because the people loved him, but there was disapproval mixed in. Shouts against Wolsey, the Boleyns, and even some against the King himself. But for Queen Katherine... 

 

For Queen Katherine there was nothing but approval. Cat knew that was not a good sign for her future sister-in-law, not at all. It was true that she had support in some quarters, mostly on the lands owned by her male relatives. But for the most part, the people were all for Katherine, and since they didn't want to blame their king for this any more than Katherine herself seemed to want to do... Well, for them, Anne was the logical scapegoat. 

 

It could be trouble, Cat decided. One thing everyone knew about the King was how proud he was of his people's love. His father, the first Tudor king, had never been loved. He'd been respected, and his people were grateful to have an end to civil wars, but they'd never loved him. They _had_ loved their Queen, since she was the daughter of their beloved Edward IV, and they'd loved her sons. Especially her younger son, who was in many ways so like his grandfather.

 

They'd loved Henry when he was only a Duke of York, they'd loved him as Prince of Wales, and they loved him as King. But would they turn on him because of the woman he loved, and if they did, would that cost Anne the King's devotion? It was one of those questions which honestly had no answer, not until whatever was going to happen actually did.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Jane considered telling Anne that if she gripped the old hangings much tighter there was a very good chance that she would break them, but decided doing so would be a very bad idea. Her sister's face was white and pinched, as Bishop Fisher declared below that he had never signed a document concerning the questionable nature of the royal marriage.

 

They'd known before this that Fisher was an enemy, of course; Edward had told them all about his latest conversation with Mistress Stanhope. And that little dynamic was a puzzle for another day, Jane promised herself. She could do with something as simple as interfering in a sibling's personal affairs after this mess. 

 

But as for Fisher, they'd expected him to help the Queen put up a fight, but this was just foolish. Who had forged his signature, and were they truly that idiotic? Anyone would have known that Fisher wouldn't stand for it, which had made it a terrible idea. But the damage was done, and she had to admit she was impressed with the King's reaction. 

 

“Well, I'm not going to argue with you now. After all, you are but one man,” he said imperiously. Jane had half-expected him to fly into a temper, and he hadn't. Thankfully. After all, he was claiming to want his marriage vindicated, not annulled. Glancing at Anne, she saw her sister's lips curve in the ghost of a smile, probably thinking along similar lines.

 

He made a good argument, Jane admitted. That made sense, since the King's childhood schooling had been aimed at preparing him for the Church, and he was still known to take an interest in theology. But Jane hadn't really involved herself in the technicalities of the case before now; she had been more focused on supporting Anne and worrying about whether or not her sister would really be happy with Henry. But in spite of herself, Jane found the opening argument interesting.

 

Then the Queen was called to speak, and Jane just knew this wasn't going to go well. When Katherine crossed the room to kneel before Henry, that was only confirmed. Beside her, Anne hissed, “What is she doing? She can't do that!” 

 

“I doubt that she cares, Anne,” Jane said grimly, as the Queen's voice echoed up to where they watched. 

 

“Sir, I beseech you, for all the love that has been between us, let me have justice and right. Give me some pity and compassion, for I am a poor woman and a stranger, born out of your dominion. I have no friend here and little counsel. I plea to you as head of justice in this realm. I call God and all the world to witness that I have been to you a true humble and obedient wife ever compliant to your will and pleasure. I have loved all those whom you have loved for your sake whether or not I had cause. Whether they be friends or enemies. By me you have had many children, although it has pleased God to call them from this world. But when you had me at first, I take God as my judge, I was a true maid without touch of man. And whether or not it be true, I put it to your conscience."

 

This, Jane knew, was quite possibly the best thing the Queen could have done. For herself, at any rate. For the King's case, and for Jane's sister, it was nothing short of a disaster. Jane didn't know if anyone could fake that level of passion and confidence, if anyone could feign the ring of truth and conviction in Katherine's words. It was clear that the watching townspeople, gathered in the back rows, agreed. As Katherine swept from the church, head held high, and ignored the demands for her return, the people cheered for her, the sound bouncing off the stone walls.

 

From the look on Anne's face, the cheering might have been her own death knell. Jane slipped an arm around her sister's waist, knowing there wasn't anything she could say. 

 

Henry might win his case in the end, but if the people kept disagreeing, what would that mean for Anne?

 

~ ~ ~

 

Cromwell wondered if Wolsey knew how obvious his desperation was becoming. Then again, it might not be that obvious to most people. He had a tendency to forget that not everyone made a study of others the way he did, and so might not see all that he picked up on.

 

Not that anyone would miss it if they saw the scene in front of him now. They were well-matched opponents, Cardinal and Queen, walking a new path on an old battlefield. Even so, Katherine was a fool if she thought Wolsey was behind this. Oh, the cardinal hated the queen and certainly didn't mind throwing her out on her ear, but to replace her with Anne Boleyn? Wolsey would never do that willingly.

 

And besides, Cromwell was privy to a lot that Katherine wasn't. He knew how worried Wolsey was, he knew that the divorce had been the king's idea from the very beginning. Katherine's way of clinging to her belief that this was half Wolsey's doing and half Anne Boleyn's skill at seduction was, to his mind, rather childlike. If you can't see it, it's not there. How she could miss the fact that her husband wasn't just caught up with another woman, but well and truly tired of Katherine herself, he didn't know.

 

“The King commands that you surrender this whole matter into his hands. Otherwise the court will condemn you,” Wolsey said urgently to the Queen as Cromwell and her ladies trailed behind them. 

 

Katherine turned her head to look at Wolsey but continued walking, not even breaking stride. “I am surprised to receive such a request from such wise and noble men as you.” The chilly mockery in her tone was impressive, but it wouldn't do her any good. “I am but a poor woman, lacking in both wit and understanding. How am I supposed to respond to such a request, made to me out of the blue?”

 

Her sarcasm ruined her pretense at ignorance, and Wolsey's impatience with it all was clear. “You know perfectly well what the King wants and what he shall have.”

 

“All _I_ know, Eminence,” Katherine countered, stopping so that Wolsey was forced to turn and face her, “is that you, for your own purposes, have kindled this fire. All this time, all these years, I have wondered at your high pride and your vainglory. I have abhorred your voluptuous life and have no regard at all for your presumptious power and your tyranny. I know also of your malice against my nephew the Emperor. You hate him like a scorpion, and why? Because he would not satisfy your ambitions and make you Pope by force.”

 

“Madam, you should never presume to know – ” Wolsey finally losing his temper was surprising in itself, he didn't get a chance to work himself up into a full rage because the Queen cut him off. 

 

“My only satisfaction is that in frustrating you, I hasten your fall from the King's good graces, an outcome I desire above all others.” With that she walked away, her ladies following behind her. Wolsey made to follow her, but Cromwell stopped him. He could only imagine the scene that would result if this particular conversation continued. 

 

“Hold, Your Eminence. You will not get your divorce this way.” 

 

“It is the only way,” Wolsey snapped, before walking off in the opposite direction from the Queen. Cromwell did not follow, deciding that he didn't want to be in range of the older man's temper when it broke. He didn't really fear the Cardinal as much as he had, but there was no need to go looking for trouble.

An ironic choice if ever there was one, all things considered, he mused, eyes flicking around the chapel. After all, if he had his way, all of these ridiculous trappings would be weeded out for a better, far purer faith, and that wish was asking for far more trouble than getting in the way of a Cardinal would ever be.

 

It would be worth it, though. And he saw his way forward already, because Wolsey was wrong. There was another way to get the King's divorce. It was simply that the way was not one that would be open to anyone that clung to the old, corrupted ways. To anyone who clung to the Catholic Church. For the moment, the King still wished to be vindicated by the Pope, but a bit more time, a bit more delays, and he would be tired of it. He would be angry enough to listen to other options then, and Cromwell intended to be right there to offer them.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“This is good news, isn't it?” Tom said, bewildered by the grim looks on George and Edward's faces. “People are mocking the trial, the story Willoughby told today.”

 

“Yes,” George said, running a hand through his hair. “but you also said they followed that up with a toast to the Queen.”

 

“It was just part of the joke,” Tom argued. Edward sighed, rolling his eyes, and Tom turned on him. “Oh, am I missing something, again? Whatever you may think, Edward, I'm not an idiot and you're not the only one with a mind.”

 

Edward raised an eyebrow as if to say _“Are you sure about that?”_ before saying, “What exactly did they say, when they toasted her?”

 

“The man said 'To Queen Katherine, who doesn't give a fig.' Why?”

 

George cursed quietly and creatively. Edward scowled. “Because,” he said irritably, “it means that their respect for her hasn't changed one jot. If anything, they admire her more now for standing firm despite all of this coming out to shame her. If you hadn't been half-drunk yourself when you heard this maybe you'd have noticed.”

 

“You pompous... I am through with you acting as though I'm less than you,” Thomas snapped. He stood so quickly that his chair toppled and stalked out of the room, letting the door close with a loud bang behind him.

 

It took over ten minutes of walking the palace corridors before Thomas had calmed himself down at all, and even then his dark eyes still blazed with temper. Just who did Edward think he was, treating him that way? And George was starting to do it to, patronizing Thomas as though he were an idiot. What made them think they had the right? Because he was the youngest? Because he wasn't titled like George or university-educated like Edward? Either way, he was sick of their patronizing.

 

He collided with a woman wearing the cream and gold of the Queen's household and offered an absent apology more out of habit than anything before continuing on his way. He was too angry even to flirt, for once. 

 

Initially, Jane Parker was inclined to be angry with the man who had nearly knocked her to the floor, but when she recognized him she wisely kept silent. Thomas Seymour was the youngest of Anne Boleyn's elder brothers, after all, and irritating any of that family wasn't wise. Not to mention, the look on his face was very interesting. 

 

Was there trouble in the family, then? It seemed so, and if it was enough to have the usually feckless Thomas Seymour in a temper, well... She wasn't sure what use it might be to her, but there was always a chance, so she made a note of it before continuing on her way back to the Queen's rooms.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Margaret's hand closed in a fist, hiding the red stains on her handkerchief, and she took a deep breath. It hurt to do so, but she needed to calm herself and couldn't let that matter. If she didn't, she very well might fall apart, because she knew what this was. Not that she was only just realizing – she'd been coughing blood for some time, and she remembered her father doing the same, before his death.

 

It was simply that... Charles was usually at court, and she was here. It was true that she was avoiding the Boleyns, but she also didn't want either her husband or her brother to realize that she was ill. Henry would be furious with her for coming to court when she was sick anyway, in case it was something catching, and when he realized what it actually was... She didn't want the cloying sympathy he'd likely offer, from a distance. Not now, not after he'd threatened to kill her for following her heart, something he clearly did without hesitation.

 

And Charles... No. If he wouldn't come back to her for love or lust, if he preferred the little sluts at court – yes, she knew all about that and it had left her furious for a long time, but now she was too tired to care – then she wouldn't tell him this, having him return to her out of guilt or pity or some ridiculous sense of duty. No. She wouldn't stand for that.

 

It wasn't as though any of that could save her. She was going to die anyway, and she wouldn't die like that. Not with such... hollow pretenses.

 

She'd been born and bred at court, had grown up with nothing but pretty words that meant nothing. She would _not_ die with it.

 


	16. To Dance Within The Flame

Cat had avoided spending much time with her future family, though it wasn't really by choice. Rather, it was a matter of simple practicality. She was acting as the Boleyn spy in the Queen's household. Her impending marriage to George meant that she was already viewed with a level of suspicion. But by acting as though she had no choice in the matter – which in truth wasn't an act – and that she had no interest in bonding with her husband or his family – far less true – she could cut back on that. Everyone in their world understood arranged marriages, but if they thought her reluctant she would earn their sympathy. To some extent.

 

But it turned out that Mary Boleyn didn't care about that. Oh, she knew, which was why this little dinner was at her husband's London house, rather than anywhere at court. “But,” her future sister-in-law had said, “I don't care about all of this secrecy, you and George deserve a chance to get to know one another. It would be different if you weren't both at court, but as it is it's ridiculous that you're still strangers.”

 

Cat agreed with her, but the fact remained that there was a reason for it, and she'd said as much. Hence the plan to be at the Northumberland home instead of their court apartments. 

 

And she was actually nervous. This was ridiculous. She spent her days as a spy in enemy territory, more or less, and she was worried about this? It was true that her place with the Queen would not be forever and marriage was, but even so. She was in a tense position at court, she was a Woodville, and of all the things to have her nervous, it was this?

 

It was foolish but it was true. So she was left to smooth nonexistent wrinkles out of her skirt and pretend that she was listening to Mary and Lord Percy's conversation.

 

George came into the room talking about the trial, but when he saw Cat he stopped, eyebrows going up. “Lady Grey,” he said after a moment, inclining his head. Cat smiled thinly, feeling painfully awkward. 

 

It didn't get any better through the meal, with Mary trying valiantly to keep the conversation going. Cat just wasn't sure what to say. Honestly, she wasn't the most outgoing of people; if nothing else that was what made her so useful as a spy. She was quiet, she stood back and watched, and if there was nothing interesting about the people surrounding her she would much rather curl up somewhere with a book than try and make conversation with strangers. 

 

After the meal, though, Mary and Lord Percy both made contrived excuses to leave George and Cat alone – something extremely improper but from the look in Mary's eyes she didn't care. George looked at her uncertainly, and then said, “I'm sorry that my father pressed you into spying before we're even married. It seems almost unfair.”

 

“From what I've seen, he's no fairer with the rest of you, no offense meant. I think it's better for me this way,” she said politely. “Anyway, I watch people all the time, so there's very little he's asking of me that I wouldn't do regardless. And besides...” She smiled wryly. “I'm a Woodville. My great-grandmother made it to the throne of England, you know.”

 

“Yes, on her looks,” George quipped. “Or so the legend goes.”

 

“Looks started it, but she and her family needed ambition and cunning to stay at the top for as long as they did. I do understand how a family like yours works, my lord; my family is similar stock.”

 

George smiled at her. “My name is George, Lady Grey. If we're to be married, it's nice to hear my Christian name from you at least some of the time, since I will certainly call you Catherine.” 

 

She shook her head. “Cat is better, actually,” she corrected, smiling back. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

 

~ ~ ~ 

 

Every day, Jane went with Anne to their hidden vantage point, and every day they listened to arguments and counterarguments. The King attended in person every single day, but the Queen never returned after her dramatic exit on the first day. Her lawyers were there, ready to act in her defense, but Katherine herself had put all her hopes in having the case recalled to Rome.

 

The lawyers spoke about Henry and Katherine and the late Prince Arthur incessantly. Anne's name was never mentioned but was on everyone's mind, as anyone with sense knew that Jane's sister was the Queen-in-waiting. But there was a name that was on no one's lips and seemed to be in no one's thoughts – except, presumably, Katherine's. Princess Mary. 

 

Jane couldn't help but think about the lively child she'd seen twice now, first at the Field of Cloth of Gold – where her daring in pushing the Dauphin down had been endearing, at least to Jane – and then during the Emperor's visit. That child was caught in the middle of this; after all, if her parents' marriage was invalid then what happened to her and her prospects? But it seemed that no one had thought of her at all.

 

She mentioned it to George, who shook his head and brushed her off, saying that it wasn't their job to concern themselves about Mary. After that, she knew better than to say anything to Edward, much less their father. She tried not to think about it, but she couldn't help herself. So finally, she went to Anne. 

 

Her sister was reading one of her reformist books again, which was another issue Jane wanted to discuss one day. She didn't consider reform necessarily heretical, but to display an interest so openly seemed foolish. But that was for later. “Anne? I wanted to ask you something,” Jane said, setting aside the elaborate needlework she had been doing. 

 

Anne glanced up, using a piece of ribbon to mark her place before closing her book. “What is it, Jane?”

 

“I was wondering about the Princess Mary. When the King gets his divorce and marries you, what happens to her?”

 

Anne's expression was oddly shuttered, and that was enough to make Jane worry. “I don't know, Jane. That's Henry's decision, not mine.”

 

“But she's going to be your stepdaughter! Just like you were Mama's! Don't you think you should take some kind of interest in what happens to her?” Jane took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. “She's just a _child_ , none of this is her fault, unless you're foolish enough to actually blame her for being born female, which she could hardly control.”

 

Anne bit her lip, and finally shook her head. “I don't think she's going to want me to, Jane. You're forgetting something in all of this – Papa was a widower when he married Mother. Henry is divorcing Katherine so he can marry me and have a son. Katherine will still be alive and it's entirely possible Henry will let Mary live with her. Even if he doesn't... She's sure to blame me, and to a great extent she's right.” She sighed, rubbing her eyes. “I think the best thing I can do is to leave Mary alone.” 

 

Jane frowned. There was some logic to Anne's argument, but she still didn't really like the idea. To her mind, Mary was going to be Anne's responsibility, to some extent, after the marriage, and so she ought to think of the girl a little. “You'll at least talk to the King, won't you? If it seems like he might blame her for Katherine being so stubborn?”

 

Anne shook her head. “He won't do that, Jane. We've seen them together once or twice, when the Princess visits court. He loves her, he couldn't do that.”

 

Jane wasn't so sure. Henry had loved Katherine once too. “But if he does?” she pressed. “You'll try to talk him out of it?”

 

Anne rolled her eyes. “He won't, but if he does, I'll step in. I promise, Jane.” 

 

~ ~ ~

 

After speaking to Anne's father about bringing her back to court, Henry sought out Anthony once more. Normally it was Charles' company he preferred, but his brother-in-law wasn't much help in this case. He seemed to support Henry – he was often with Boleyn and Norfolk, and they were known to hate Wolsey, so that likely had something to do with it – but he didn't seem to understand the situation. Henry's need for a male heir made perfect sense to him; after all, Henry had confided in Charles for years about that. But his passion for Anne... Charles didn't seem to comprehend it. 

 

Anthony did, which made him a more pleasant companion at times. He needed that right now, with the memory of Anne's pained fury still ringing in his mind. She didn't believe in him, she thought Katherine would win him back...

 

He couldn't think about this any longer. Especially since Katherine hurt to remember too. He'd loved her once, and he'd still been fond of her before she betrayed him by refusing to step aside. She'd forced him to this. He hadn't wanted to drag them both through this mess of a trial, after all. It wasn't his fault. 

 

And damn it, he did not want to think about this now! He was so tired of feeling tormented, of being made to feel in the wrong even though he wasn't. So he caught Anthony's eye and the other man quickly ended his conversation with Hal Percy to come to Henry's side. “Your Majesty?” 

 

“Talk to me, Anthony. About anything you wish, but I want to be distracted.” 

 

“Is... everything all right?” Anthony spoke cautiously, and Henry almost burst into bitter laughter. All right? No, hardly, even though he knew this would all be over tomorrow. 

 

“No. The woman I love is not by my side, the woman I'm shackled to remains obdurate and I... I would like to hear of a normal domestic life for once. Tell me, how are things with your wife?” Henry glanced in Lady Knivert's direction; she seemed to be deep in conversation with one of Katherine's women, a blonde he didn't know. Anthony sighed, and for a moment Henry wondered if he was the only one with domestic troubles. 

 

“She and I are... friendly.” Anthony said with a rueful smile. “It's all very polite, really. And sometimes awkward. I like her, and I think she likes me, but we seem to be stalled.”

 

Henry shook his head. “Come now, Anthony. You've never had trouble with women, why are you struggling now?” It wasn't as though Anthony had Henry's troubles, after all. 

 

“Kate is my wife, and I... I would rather not flirt with her as if she were just another ninny-in-waiting. I would hope we could have more than that. Surely you understand that, Your Majesty?”

 

Henry thought of Anne, of her smile and her pale blue eyes, and how even though she had been uncomfortable, she'd greeted his little boy warmly for his sake. “Yes, I do, Anthony. I...” He needed to tell someone. “Come with me,” he said briskly, and led the way out of the hall and to a rarely-used side corridor.

 

“I will have my verdict tomorrow, and all signs point to Campeggio deciding in my favor. But...” He did not want to voice the thought, and yet he needed to tell someone. “What if it should go wrong?” 

 

Anthony was, perhaps, the only one of his close friends who had never attached himself to a faction at court. So when the other man met his eyes squarely and said that he knew Henry would find a way to make everything come right, Henry believed him.

 

He just prayed that tomorrow would be the end of it.

 

~ ~ ~

 

After the final court session was over, George and Edward slipped away from their father and Norfolk. It was patently obvious what the two of them were going to do now – they would be plotting Wolsey's final fall from grace now that he was left so painfully open to attack. 

 

“So,” George began as they walked through the streets of London, “which of us is going to ride for Hever and tell Anne and Jane, and which of us is going to call a meeting of the siblings still here in the meantime?”

 

Edward threw him the sort of smile George was far more accustomed to seeing on Tom's face. Edward wearing it did not seem to bode well, and he eyed his older brother warily. “Edward? You're reminding me of Tom at the moment.”

 

Edward shook his head. “What I'm thinking is nothing like what goes through Thomas' mind, let me assure you. As far as your question goes, though... I'll go to Hever, you talk to Thomas and Mary. The fact is, we finally have an opening. The Church failed, after all.” 

 

Oh. Well. That certainly explained it. “You know Anne already knows about what we've discussed, I assume? She's no fool, and she noticed the possible advantages of reform for her cause just as we did.”

 

“She mentioned it?”

 

“Briefly. Cromwell went to see her, gave her a book. But I think she'd already come up with the idea. Speaking of, what are we going to do now?” That was the biggest hurdle; the King might be angry with the Church now, but his instincts were still traditional. He'd written that anti-Luther book on his own initiative, after all, whatever was rumored abroad about Erasmus or Thomas More – depending on who you asked – having done most of the work. Even if that were true, and George, having some understanding of the King's pride, doubted it, he'd still commissioned it. Without being required to.

 

He wasn't going to consider reform on his own, no matter how angry he was.

 

“Well, that will be up to Anne, won't it?”

 

George smirked. “That's basically Father and Uncle Norfolk's plan concerning Wolsey – well, their original one. I thought you were more creative than that, Ned.” The irritated look he got in reply only made him laugh. 

 

“If it's likely to work, why change it?” Edward asked. George had no answer for that because, really, it was a valid point. If Anne decided she liked the idea, then they weren't sure to succeed, but there was certainly a very good chance of it.

 

Edward left for Hever, and George asked Mary and Hal if he and Tom could meet with them in their apartments. They agreed, so he tracked down his younger brother and brought him there. He told them everything, from all the details of the trial – Hal had flatly refused to go and Tom had lost interest after a day – to what he and Edward had been discussing for some time. It was a risk; Tom didn't care about religion and he didn't think Mary did either, but Hal was from an old Northern family. The Northerners tended to be conservative in all aspects of life.

 

Sure enough, there was a slight frown on his brother-in-law's face. “You want to break with Rome. Like heretics?” 

 

“Hal...” Mary tried to cut in, but George shook his head, holding up a hand. 

 

“Mary, don't. He's right,” George said frankly. “By some standards, yes, I suppose you could call it heretical.” Certainly the meetings Edward had gone to – which he had _not_ mentioned – were “heretical”. “But at this point, we haven't got a choice. There's no way that the King can win in Rome, no matter how good his case. Not with the Emperor on Katherine's side.”

 

“Why should we care what has to be done, as long as it works?” Tom wanted to know.

 

“Well, to some, there's the possibility that we might damn our immortal souls.” Mary observed mildly. “It is something to consider.”

 

“Do you believe Anne, Edward, and I have damned ourselves, Mary?” George asked quietly. She stared at him for a long moment, her dark eyes wide, and finally, she shook her head. 

 

“No, I don't. You're my family, and while I have no interest in reform I've heard some of what Anne has to say on the subject. I just don't think Tom should be so quick to dismiss all consequences,” she added with a disapproving glance in Tom's direction.

 

Hal shook his head and stood abruptly. “I'll support the family, as always; it's clear that Anne loves the King, and I like my sister-in-law, I want her to be happy. But I can't... approve of this, though I will accept it for the sake of family unity. Excuse me.” With that he left the room, in spite of Mary's worried glance in his direction.

 

Tom rolled his eyes. “Well, I see that no one in this family takes me seriously,” he muttered, following Hal out before either George or Mary could object. Mary threw her brother a bleak look.

 

“George, is all of this going to be worth it if it's putting us at each other's throats?”

 

It was a good question, and George wondered if he'd ever have an answer for her.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Tom found himself in one of the courtyards, where he sat down on a bench, taking deep breaths. He was getting so tired of all of his siblings dismissing him out of hand. First Edward – though he was used to that – now George and Mary. Anne and Jane hadn't, but that was probably just from lack of opportunity. He was just as good as any of them; what gave them the right to look down on him?

 

He was still seething when he caught sight of a woman entering the courtyard. She wore the black and silver of the Queen's household, and after a moment he recognized her as the same woman he'd collided with a few weeks before, at the start of the trial. He was in an awful frame of mind once again, but this time he reasoned that he shouldn't let that prevent him from enjoying himself. So he shot her a charming smile, and after a moment, she approached him, a shy smile on her own face. “I think I nearly toppled you in the corridor not long ago. I do apologize, Lady... ?” 

 

“Parker,” she said with a shy smile, tucking a blonde curl under her hood. “Lady Jane Parker. And you're Thomas Seymour, yes?”

 

She didn't mention Anne, or any of his other siblings, as if she knew of him on his own merits. It was enough for Thomas' dark eyes to sharpen with interest. “Yes, the brother of a woman who they say will be Queen,” he said casually, as though it were of very little import who he was related to.

 

“But that's your sister, not you,” Lady Parker said, and then she bit her lip. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so forward.”

 

Tom shook his head. “You're not being forward at all,” he said warmly. “It's a relief, in fact, to not be judged on my sister's merits, for once.” Actually, he didn't care, but the woman's behavior was a balm to his ego, and besides, she seemed charmed by him and perhaps he could get her into his bed before much longer.

 

Of course, Jane Parker was playing her own game too. What she saw in Thomas Seymour was a young man being pushed aside by his siblings, and resentful of it, as well as ambitious enough to want to leave his own mark. To her mind, they would make the perfect team, if she could only get him to agree.

 

Anne Boleyn was making her way to the throne of England on her own initiative. Jane's fellow lady-in-waiting, Cat Grey, was marrying into their family. And Lady Anne's lady-in-waiting, Ursula Misseldon and her cousin Ann Stanhope were plotting something, even though she wasn't entirely sure what. Jane saw no reason why she shouldn't act on her own behalf as well.

 

After all, she'd wanted a partner in ambition. Perhaps Thomas Seymour would be that man. It was an idea worth exploring, at least.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Anne's initial reaction to the news about the verdict was fury, as Edward had expected it to be. She ranted for several minutes in English and the occasional bit of French, pacing the floor, and it wasn't until Jane stepped in that she calmed down. “So Wolsey failed,” she said after she'd composed herself, her voice icy. “Maybe I should have listened to Papa and Uncle Norfolk about him to begin with.”

 

“Maybe,” Edward said noncommitally. “Though if I were you, I'd see this as an opportunity.”

 

Jane looked between them, confused. “An opportunity? Edward, what...?” He didn't need to answer, because Anne did it for him.

 

“You want me to convince Henry to break with Rome.” 

 

“Are you going to tell me you haven't considered it?” Edward challenged quietly. “I won't believe you.”

 

Anne rolled her eyes. “Of course I've thought about it. I simply felt that going through the proper motions was wiser.”

 

“Do you still?” he pressed.

 

“Both of you, stop it!” Jane cut in urgently. “Reform is one thing, but this is heresy, without question. The King is too traditional, he'll never agree. He's Defender of the Faith!”

 

Jane and Mary were the most traditional of the siblings with regard to religion, so Edward wasn't particularly surprised by her comment. He shook his head, though, because while she did have a point about the King, it was no longer so clear-cut. “He's already made threats to Campeggio implying that he was considering breaking away if the Pope didn't oblige him.”

 

“It could just be bluster,” Anne observed, “but it's a start.” She smoothed her skirts, obviously deep in thought. Waiting for her to continue, Edward saw a flash of cream by one of the doors, in the small gap between door and doorframe. He said nothing though; he'd investigate that himself, since he was fairly certain he knew who that was.

 

“You can't be serious about this,” Jane said, staring at them. When they both gave her inscrutable looks, she threw her hands up in frustration, standing and walking out of the room.

 

“Jane!” Anne hurried after her, and Edward shook his head. He wasn't going to get involved in that. Instead he crossed the room to the door he'd seen the flash of color behind, yanking it open and catching Ann Stanhope's arm as she tried to make her escape. “Care to explain yourself, Mistress Stanhope?”

 

She didn't try to pull away, instead meeting his gaze squarely. “I like to know what's going on,” she said evenly.

 

“And who did you plan on telling?”

 

“No one. In case you have forgotten, I'm on your family's side,” she snapped, gray eyes flashing. She stared him down and Edward was suddenly aware of how close they were to each other. And, seemingly from nowhere, a part of him wanted... No. Now was not the time.

 

“Then why eavesdrop?” he asked, focusing once again on the true issue here.

 

“My future is tied to that of my mistress. Besides, I've found that I like her. So, as I told you, I wanted to know what was going on.” 

 

Edward let her go. It made some sense, she'd proven trustworthy so far – and he didn't really trust himself to keep holding onto her. “What is it that you want?” he asked, wondering just why it was that she was always the one gatherine information, for him or for herself. It wasn't a habit most ladies-in-waiting had, after all.

 

Ann gave him an inscrutable look. “You've asked me that before, Sir Edward. I'm not sure that you really want an honest answer.”

 

There was an almost... wistful note to her voice, but Edward didn't get the chance to press further before she moved away and vanished around a corner. He stood in the doorway for a long moment, trying to figure out what, exactly, that had been about.

 

He didn't have time for this. Anne might be the only one who could convince the King to break free of Rome, but Edward would be part of making the schism happen if she succeeded. That should be the only thing on his mind.

 

So why did he care about Ann Stanhope and what she wanted? Edward didn't want to know why, but he was beginning to anyway. He just had no idea what to do with it.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“Oh, Thomas, how very good to see you,” Wolsey said, his relief plain. Cromwell fell into step beside him, taken aback slightly when Wolsey gripped his arm. “How is the King?”

 

Well, that was hardly a surprise, he thought as they began to walk arm in arm, but under the circumstances Cromwell didn't really want to answer truthfully. He knew that Wolsey ought to know so that he could do as much to repair the damage as possible. Cromwell didn't wish the Cardinal ill, exactly; he did want to see him lose some of his power in order to slip into the void himself and further the cause of reform, but... Seeing Wolsey destroyed was Boleyn, Norfolk, and Suffolk's goal, with Northumberland being pulled in reluctantly. It was not Cromwell's.

 

However... He also couldn't afford for the Cardinal to keep full power, not if he was ever to get the chance to help bring England out of papal thraldom. So he couldn't give him too much warning.

 

“The King is, uh, going on progress, immediately. With the Lady Anne.” The words had little to do with the question, but his careful tone should be a signal to someone like Wolsey, who understood the subtleties. The King was not happy, and he should take heed. Of course, he probably knew that already.

 

Wolsey caught the hint, his tone of voice noticeably worried. “I see. Tell His Majesty that I am handing over to him at once the revenues for the See of Durham, it is one of the richest in England. And tell him that I shall not cease to work for his Great Matter. Campeggio and I will gladly accomplish his lawful desire, do you see?”

 

Cromwell nodded, the edge of desperation in Wolsey's voice turning his stomach, for more than one reason. He was grateful to the Cardinal for being given the chance to move up at court, and also... He hoped to take some of Wolsey's power away, but that also meant taking some of the ire Wolsey faced. If he were to fail the King... Would he be reduced to similar floundering for survival?

 

“I will tell him,” he said simply, no trace of his whirling thoughts in his quiet voice.

 

Wolsey let him go and Cromwell stepped away, turning back around to face him as Wolsey added, “And Thomas? Tell me I can trust _you_ to advocate my interests to the King.”

 

And there was the guilt he'd been trying to ignore. Cromwell knew very well what he owed Wolsey, and that, by rights, he should want to repay that. He did – but he felt that his first responsibility was to the cause of reform. And there was his own ambition, which he was self-aware enough to admit to. Still, he justified his choices by the cause he served, unsure if he would truly behave differently if he did not have that to uphold, but telling himself he would. He wouldn't be a traitor simply to serve himself. He _wouldn't_. 

 

He didn't know that the guilt flickered in his eyes when he lifted his chin slightly, looking at Wolsey. “You may.” To some extent, that was even true. “For without you, I would be a lowly clerk, without profit or future. I owe you my life.”

 

He did owe Wolsey his life. And in earlier days, that might have been enough for Cromwell to hold to an absolute loyalty toward the Cardinal. But not anymore. There were greater things at stake than either of them, and hard choices had to be made. 

 

Cromwell understood hard choices, having learned them in the muddy streets of Putney long before he'd ever thought he would leave that town, much less be a coming man at court. And what he had learned in his boyhood, what had been reinforced in his mercenary days in France and Italy, was that he could make those hard choices. He could turn away even when part of him wished not to, or knew it was wrong. And so that was exactly what he would do.

 

When England was free of papal dominance and superstition, whatever he had to do would be worth it.

~ ~ ~

 

Jane was still unhappy with her. Anne knew that, just as she knew that her sister was far more traditional than she was. But then, that made sense; while both sisters had divided their time between the households of Queen Claude and Duchess Marguerite while at the French court, Anne had been summoned more frequently to Marguerite's side, while Jane had quickly become a favorite of Claude's. Much of Anne's taste for reform came from Marguerite's influence. Jane agreed that the Church had more than its share of corruption, but she wasn't ready to see it toppled. 

 

Anne didn't want to topple the entire Church either – she wanted reform, and in the end it would be for the general good. Though she would admit that, if the Church was willing to allow her marriage, she'd have been happy to never challenge them directly. But it hadn't worked like that, had it?

 

And now she had the perfect chance to talk to Henry. They'd gone on progress and Katherine was left behind to meet Mary at... some castle or another, Anne didn't actually know or particularly care where they were going to be. She was with Henry, almost alone save for a small entourage, made up only of their attendants, her family and Henry's closest friends. She didn't care much for Brandon, ally of her family or no, but Knivert and his wife were pleasant company. They were at a hunting lodge, Grafton House in the Midlands, away from everything. It was as close to private as she and Henry would ever get, and it was a wonderful feeling.

 

They'd gone out riding, and the two of them had soon raced ahead of their companions – the Kniverts, Edward, and Anne's attendant Mistress Stanhope. So now, for once, they were alone. Unfortunately, Henry's mood was not as good as Anne's.

 

“I've been summoned to Rome,” he said bitterly. “I have to appear before the Pope and answer for myself. Can you imagine it? Me, the King of England, who answers to no one but God?” He rode his horse in circles around her, all but ranting outright now. Anne stayed calm and waited. She didn't like seeing him this way, but she knew well enough that this was a chance if she timed it right.

 

“Damn Wolsey. Damn him to Hell.” He fell into a brooding silence, and Anne saw her opening. 

 

“May I speak plainly?”

 

“Yes, of course.”

 

“There are some who on good authority care not for Popes. These men say that the King is is both Emperor and Pope absolutely in his own kingdom.” She looked over at him through her veil, meeting his eyes calmly. 

 

“Which writers?” he asked, and she hid the flash of satisfaction she felt. There. There it was, Henry's pride, which she knew would like the idea of a King being the ultimate authority in everything.

 

“I have a book to show you. With your permission.” 

 

Henry turned his horse, spurring it forward. He stopped for a second to lean toward her, eyes dark with temper. “Show it to me.” 

 

Anne watched him go for a moment, a small, triumphant smirk on her lips. Then she turned her own mount around, following him back to their party.

 

That night, a storm kept her awake. She glanced over at Jane, sharing her bed in order to ensure that no one could claim that Henry came to her there. Anne had never understood how Jane could seelp through storms, through the noise and the raw beauty of them. She rose from the bed quietly, going to stand by the window. 

 

A superstitious woman might think it was an omen, but Anne simply appreciated it for the dangerous, lovely thing that it was. She'd always loved storms, personally.


	17. To The Victor Go The Spoils

Brandon was still in a state of shock as he rode up to Westhorpe Hall, letting the stable boy take the reins of his horse. He felt like there was some kind of fog in his mind, obscuring his thoughts, and that there had been ever since the messenger had arrived with the news.

 

_“Your Grace, I am so sorry to have to tell you this, but your wife the Princess has died.”_

 

Even Henry's wrath had barely touched him, he felt so oddly... detached from everything. Now, he walked through his house and straight to the bedchamber, sitting on the edge of the bed and dropping his head into his hands. He remembered the last time he'd seen Margaret – she had refused to bid him farewell when he'd last returned to court – that night he'd woken to find her sitting at the window, before she crossed the room to run her fingers along his face and look at him in such a strange way. But at the time he'd been half-asleep, unable to really think about the faraway look in her eyes, and later... He hadn't wanted to. He could admit that to himself now. 

 

Their marriage, begun in what he still believed was a kind of love, had fallen apart so quickly... It was the strain, he believed, on both of them but especially Margaret, who had never really thought Henry would turn his wrath on her. The months following their return from Portugal and subsequent banishment had quickly gone from being a honeymoon to being almost hellish. Margaret began to drink too much, and Brandon had seized at his first chance of escape – Boleyn.

 

Christ, he was regretting that now. He hated Boleyn; Margaret had been right about him. As for Anne... Perhaps less so, he wasn't sure. Anthony liked her sister Jane, the quiet blonde one, but that didn't say much about Anne. And whatever his feelings, it had all been in vain, hadn't it? Returning to court had done nothing for Margaret's temper, and they were as badly off as they'd been before. Worse, once she found out about his affairs... Admittedly, the blame for _that_ lay solely on him, but what was he supposed to do when his own wife looked at him with what was very near hatred and he didn't know how to fix it?

 

And now... God help him, some part of him was relieved. And that only made him feel guiltier. How could he be relieved that she was gone? How could it have all gone so wrong? He didn't realize he'd said that last part aloud until someone answered him.

 

“You should have just tried to show her that you loved her.” The angry voice belonged to his eldest child, Sarah. Sarah was a bastard fathered in his youth on a servant girl who'd died in childbed. He'd taken responsibility for her, and she was a sweet child of ten, normally. But not right now. Her dark eyes – his own – blazed with a fury far too adult for her as she stared him down. Christ, it was like trying to meet his own accusing gaze, in the face of a child. 

 

“Sarah...” Margaret was the only mother she'd ever had, and after an initial tension, he'd noticed that the pair of them got on surprisingly well. 

 

“I saw how sad she was, Papa. You could have seen it too, but you didn't want to! And she died thinking you didn't love her!”

 

She turned and ran before he could stop her, and he sank heavily back onto the bed again. Sarah was right, wasn't she? He'd failed Margaret, and what they'd shared. He'd meant to fix it, someday, had assumed there would be time. And now... Now it was too late.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“Since then I've... rather lost my sense of humor,” Wolsey said with a bitter smile, half-turning from the bookshelf to look back at Joan. Joan, who didn't need to follow him into exile but had done it anyway. He hated this, but he had to admit that if he'd lost her as well, it would have been even more unbearable to be reduced to where he was, huddling in a house that was falling apart, begging an uppity bitch for her help.

 

But what else was there to do? He hadn't just lost his place and court and the love of his King, he had lost his... Well, what trust he had in others, he supposed. It was odd that he didn't even really blame Thomas Cromwell, even though Cromwell owed him more than most. He'd recognized himself in the man from the very beginning; it was why he'd hired him, really. Cromwell had done no more or less than Wolsey himself would have done, and... Perhaps he'd thought he'd hidden his guilt, that day just after the King had left on progress, but he had not. Wolsey wouldn't have even let himself feel guilty. It still left him angry – Cromwell _owed_ him, and had said as much – but how much could he condemn the very actions he himself would have taken once?

 

And then there was More. He really had believed in More, believed that the other man's conscience would not let him forget old favors and debts owed. But he'd turned on him as well. It shouldn't have been such a surprise; he knew how More felt about the divorce, but even so, he had looked so quietly pleased with himself that it had infuriated Wolsey then, and still did. And if he'd heard right, More was his replacement as Chancellor. He knew that the man hadn't been aiming for that – not More with his lack of ambition and dislike of the court – but he also knew the man well enough to know that, given power, he would use it. For the 'good of Christendom' of course, at least as Sir Thomas More interpreted that good.

 

Wolsey focused once again on his letter. These bitter thoughts would do him no good, not when he had to bring all the charm and guile he'd ever had to bear on one piece of parchment, one letter to send to the night crow, the shadow queen-in-waiting who was responsible for all this. Or, at least, was the tool of those who were; Anne Boleyn herself had seemed mostly indifferent to him until the trial fell through, it was her father and uncle who despised him. He clung to that former indifference as his best hope.

 

But what if it didn't work? Who else could he possibly turn to? A thought struck him, a strange one since, while Anne Boleyn might hate him, the woman he was now considering certainly did. But she had even more reason to hate Anne Boleyn, and if he couldn't get Anne on his side... It was worth keeping in mind, if nothing else.

 

“I should have listened to you,” he said bitterly, before he could keep the words in. Joan gave him a worried look, and he shook his head. “You warned me that I should run, before it all fell apart. And you were right.” 

 

Joan sighed, putting down the pot she had been about to empty and crossing the room to where he stood, wrapping her arms around him. “Perhaps you should have. And perhaps it isn't over yet. That Boleyn woman and her allies should not underestimate you.” 

 

Wolsey held the woman who, in another lifetime, would have been his wife in truth and not merely in spirit, grateful for the comfort he suspected he did not deserve. He'd brought them both to this, with his pride and his arrogance, but maybe... Maybe he could get them out of it again. After all, it couldn't get any worse, could it?

 

~ ~ ~

 

“So, your father, Suffolk, and Norfolk have what they wanted,” Ann said lightly as she fell into step beside Edward. She'd happened to see him outside in one of the gardens, and since Anne had released her for the day, she was free to go and catch up with him. He glanced over at her, a faint, wry smile on his face. 

 

“They won't have what they want until Wolsey's head is on a pike, but they're more or less content for the moment,” he conceded. “I hear Michael is back from York.” 

 

Ah, her brother. A safe topic between them, she supposed. She thought she could easily grow to hate the concept of 'safe' topics. But, well, things between them... There had been an odd tension, ever since their brief confrontation at Hever. Ann thought she knew why, and it frustrated her to no end that she couldn't find a way to cross the sudden distance between them. It would be easier if he wasn't so damned impossible to read, but she pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the conversation. Upsetting herself wouldn't do any good.

 

“He is, yes.” She laughed. “He's talking about finding a wife, which should prove interesting to say the very least.”

 

“Michael, married? I can't imagine it.”

 

“Well, neither can I, which is my very point.” Ann shook her head. “My free-spirited brother, married. I think he needs a better job first. A young lawyer doesn't have much work – it's why he was willing to go up to York in the first place.”

 

Edward shrugged. “Well, Boleyn-Seymour stock is high at the moment; perhaps I could find him something,” he said thoughtfully. “It would be the least I could do – as your brother says, I'd have probably died in the Cambridge libraries if he hadn't fished me out to eat and relax now and again.”

 

“It sounds like you're the one who needs to be married, just to have someone watching out for you,” Ann quipped, and then, realizing how that might have sounded, was supremely grateful that she did not blush easily. That very easily could have been taken to imply... She cleared her throat. “But, in all honesty, if you can help Michael, he and I would both appreciate it.”

 

“Well, I don't need a lawyer myself at the moment – I could practice myself if I wasn't at court – but I'm sure I could find a place for him among the lawyers that work for the King. Perhaps under Cromwell or More.”

 

“Not More,” Ann said, shaking her head. “That Papist fanatic?” she added quietly, slipping back into Gaelic as well, for safety's sake. **“Now that he's Chancellor, we are in quite a bit of trouble. At least Wolsey only burned books. More will have people consigned to the flames.”**

 

 **“Though having a layman as Chancellor is a step forward in terms of a precedent – it means the Church technically has less power in the government. Of course, it being More, well... You're right about that much, at least.”** Edward was using Gaelic as well, understanding the need to not be overheard, especially now. **“Though if the King himself were to turn toward reform...”**

 

**“What?”**

 

 **“Well, my sister is a supporter of it herself,”** Edward said mildly. **“I know the two of you have been sharing pamphlets, so don't even try to pretend you don't know.”**

 

**“Why would I do that? It's another reason why I like her.”**

 

Their conversation continued like that for a while, shifting to a discussion of the latest pamphlets, but never again straying to the personal. Ann's remark was forgotten as though she'd never said it, and though she was relieved at first... Damn him. She knew, from observation and what she'd been told – by Michael and more recently by a bewildered Anne and Jane – that Edward didn't socialize with many people, and the fact that he talked to her more often than was necessary to get the information she gathered was... unusual for him.

 

She liked him. He could actually hold an intelligent conversation, and believed her capable of the same, which alone put him far above the men her father had considered for her, years ago. He was also attractive, which while not enough on its own certainly helped. She wasn't sure that she loved him – Ann was rather skeptical of love as something real outside of songs and myths anyway – but they got on well. But she couldn't tell if he was interested at all. It was driving her mad. 

 

So... She would just have to find a way to force his hand, wouldn't she?

 

~ ~ ~

 

“Sir Thomas. I see that you allow yourself none of the trappings of your great office.” 

 

More turned to look at Cromwell, moving back to his desk from the bookshelves he'd been standing at. “Oh, I'm not so vain as to display its power, Master Cromwell,” he said easily, half-sprawling in his chair. “But I tell you this: I fully intend to use it.” He gestured for the younger man to sit down. 

 

“May I ask to what effect?” Cromwell said slowly as he moved to sit in front of the desk. His tone was innocently curious, but More wondered if that was really all there was to it. He didn't know much about Cromwell. He was one of Wolsey's men, a lawyer from the City with no bloodline to speak of and a rather shadowy past. Now the man was Henry's Secretary, and rumored to be close to the Boleyns. 

 

So More had reason to be suspicious. He had no reason to dislike the man, though, so there was no need to be anything less than polite, or even to hide his plans; after all, he wanted everyone to know. So he pulled forward a paper, a report of a Cambridge sermon that clearly bordered on outright heresy. “Here. Here is a report of a sermon, given at Cambridge by a certain Hugh Latimer, a senior member of the university.”

 

He read the summary of Latimer's words, eyes flicking from the parchment to Cromwell's face often. There was no change that More could see, not in Cromwell's calm expression or his watchful eyes. Either he was truly unmoved by the sermon – whether in disgust as More was or in solidarity, as one might suspect from his company – or he was simply very good at keeping it to himself. More would have guessed the latter, if pressed to do so.

 

He rolled up the paper. “Times have changed, Master Cromwell. Now I plainly see the risk and danger involved in such an open door policy towards these newfangled, erroneous sects,” he explained, his tone colored with his disgust for it all. 

 

“You condemn all reformers as heretics?” Cromwell asked smoothly. Again, the words were innocent enough, the tone mild, but More didn't trust that in the slightest. 

 

“Wolsey was far too soft on them,” More said calmly, just the hint of a threat in his voice. “I intend not to be.” It was a warning as much as anything else. After all, everyone was given the chance to repent of their past sins. 

 

“Will you burn them?” The question hung in the air and More almost asked why Cromwell would want to know, unless he sympathized with them, but he decided that, for now, he would not press the point. Not without evidence to back his suspicions up.

 

Cromwell left soon afterwards, and More watched him go, wondering just what it was that made the hair on the back of his neck rise when he dealt with Cromwell. There wasn't a single thing he could point to; the man was always perfectly correct in how he interacted with others and exacting in his work. But something in the back of his mind made him want to be extremely wary of Henry's unobtrusive Secretary. Thomas More knew something about coming men; he'd been one himself and he'd seen countless numbers of them over the years watching the court. Cromwell was the latest of them, but he handled himself far better. He could be dangerous to a great many people if he so chose. 

 

For his part, Cromwell could think of all the foolish reasons why he could be jealous of Thomas More,. It wasn't his place in the King's favor, or his job as Lord Chancellor, though that would make sense. He'd usurp More if he could, but that was ambition, and the need of a high place to achieve his goals. No, what a part of him envied More was what the man would go home to; an apparently loving wife and a large family of children. Cromwell still had his son, and Gregory was a joy to him, but he was far away in Cambridge, while Liz and the girls... 

 

They were gone, and he could not afford to dwell on them. He should think on More, on a man he knew very well could become his sworn enemy. They did not recognize each other, not yet, but they would. They would have to, because however much Thomas More fought, the Reformation was due to break cover in England, and that was that. He and More would be truly on opposite sides before all was said and done; the only question was who would come out as the victor.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Some people wondered, especially after meeting her siblings, where Jane had gotten her usually soft-spoken nature from. She always said it was from her mother. For Jane, she had found that being quiet and overlooked helped her to see more than she would have otherwise. In Margery's case, people underestimated her, forgetting that she had been married to a difficult husband for over a decade, and had run Wolf Hall for a young Edward after John Seymour's death. In short, they forgot that, given the right situation, Margery Boleyn could be formidable. But anyone who could see the icy fury in her eyes now, Jane reflected, would never forget it again. Margery was glaring at Anne, who looked more than a bit taken aback.

 

“I don't see what you're so upset about, Mother,” she said cautiously, as if to forestall whatever tirade was coming. 

 

“You 'sometimes wish all Spaniards were at the bottom of the sea' and want to see Katherine hanged?” Margery snapped. “What were you thinking to say that, Anne?”

 

Anne glanced at Jane, obviously seeking support, but Jane bit her lip and looked away. She'd been standing behind Anne with Lady Talbot at the time, and to be honest she disapproved too. Scowling, Anne turned back to Margery, lifting her chin up defiantly. “I still don't see what the trouble is; I was simply making a point.”

 

“No,” Margery corrected sarcastically, “you were acting out of spite, with no thought to the consequences.”

 

“What consequences? Katherine's ladies despise me anyway.” Anne rolled her eyes. “Why should I care what they or anyone else think of me? I have the King's love, and I will be his Queen. They can't touch me.” 

 

Jane opened her mouth to comment – because now Anne was just being a fool – but Margery shot her a silencing look, and she kept her mouth shut. Her mother had it well in hand anyway. “The King's love is fickle, Anne! You cannot rely on it. He loved Wolsey as a father figure, now where is he? You must have a support base of your own if you are to have any hope of true safety, you must make friends or at least allies. And acting like a petulant child will not help you there.” 

 

Margery shook her head. “And if you would be Queen, Mistress Haughty, I suggest that you take a closer look at the Spanish woman you so despise. You could learn a thing or two about how a Queen should behave from her!” With that, Margery stalked from Anne's bedchamber without waiting for a reply, the door banging shut behind her. 

 

Anne stood there in shock for a moment before whirling on Jane, seated by the window and embroidering her latest elaborate design onto a wall hanging. “Why didn't you defend me?” she demanded. Jane tied off her thread and looked up with a shrug.

 

“Because I agree with her,” she said simply. When Anne made to reply furiously, Jane held up a hand. “Let me finish. I know you're angry and frustrated, Anne. This waiting isn't easy on you, and I understand that. But you can't let it get the best of you. Rant to me, or George, vent your feelings with us, but don't let it slip out in public. You can't afford to alienate anyone else.”

 

Anne scoffed. “They're going to hate me regardless; I may as well give them something to fuel their scandalized whispers.”

 

Jane threw down her embroidery impatiently, standing so that she and Anne were on eye level. “Stop it! You know you're wrong, you just don't want to admit it!”

 

“What I know is that you're not angry about this, you're still upset with me for being reformist!” 

 

“That's ridiculous! I think you're taking a terrible risk, and I'm not sure I can believe the Church is as bad as you say, or that we really are better off separating from the Holy Father, but I would never hold that against you, Anne! You're my sister and I love you, I know you believe in reform because you think it's the right path to God, and I can respect that as long as you respect that I am not convinced as you are. This is about the court, and the fact that you _know_ the King is unreliable. You can't trust in only him.”

 

“I don't. I have you, and George and Edward, Mary and Hal when they're here, Tom... most of the time. I have other allies,” Anne pointed out.

 

“I don't think the family is going to be enough, Anne,” Jane said quietly. 

 

“Why not? And who else am I supposed to rely on?”

 

“We'll have to find that out as we go, but... If you anger everyone, there will _be_ no one else who might be trustworthy. The temporary satisfaction you get from causing a brief scandal isn't worth the long-term effects.”

 

Anne sat on the edge of her bed and Jane sat next to her, cautiously moving to put an arm around her shoulders. She was relieved when Anne didn't push her away. “I can't take much more of this,” Anne said quietly, resting her head on Jane's shoulder. “So many people disapprove of me, and I'm not someone who can accept all the hostility with a smile. I have to show them they haven't gotten to me, and how better to do that than to invite their anger?” 

 

“It just makes you look petty, actually, and too arrogant for words,” Jane pointed out. “Trust me, Anne, I know it's difficult for you, but you will confound your sworn enemies all the more if you can give them a smile – or at least a calm reaction – and it will help your case with those who are still neutral on all this. You know how courtiers are, you should know this.”

 

“I can't go against my nature.” 

 

“Why not? You're a courtier – a soon to be Queen – and a woman, those are very good reasons to be a consummate actor and hide your true nature for all you're worth.”

 

“Is that what you do in front of others every day, Jane? Act and hide who you really are? You don't seem to.”

 

Jane's smile was wry. “I don't have to. I'm the quiet sibiling, the one everyone leaves to the shadows cast by the light of the rest of you. And I'm happy there, it suits me.” Most of the time it did, anyway, and Jane would not take a place in the center of things if it made her as much of a target as Anne. “But you are the principal player in this masque, and I'm afraid you do have to.”

 

Anne gave her a wan smile. “I suppose I can try,” she said, shaking her head. She looked so tired, and Jane wanted to tell her just to stop, but... What good would it do anyway?

 

~ ~ ~

 

“I'm surprised you have so much time,” Anthony said to Charles as they walked toward the stables at Westhorpe.

 

“To do what?”

 

“To do _nothing_! Aren't you supposed to be running the country?” 

 

Charles shrugged. “I leave that to Norfolk; he's had more practice. And in any case, meetings with ambassadors... Infinitely tedious. They're all liars, hypocrites, and middle-aged men.”

 

Tony scoffed. “Would you prefer them to be women?” he asked teasingly. 

 

“My friend, if all ambassadors were beautiful women, I'd be serving my country day _and_ night.” Tony couldn't help but laugh; it was so typical a comment, coming from Charles, and his friend had been so uncharacteristically withdrawn after Margaret's death that it was good to hear him sounding like himself again.

 

“Speaking of women,” he commented, nodding to where he saw Kate walking with Catherine Willoughby, “your ward and my wife seem to have renewed their friendship. They met in the Princess' household, Kate tells me.” 

 

Charles followed his gaze, looking at young Catherine with what appeared to be regret. “I assume so; I haven't asked her.” 

 

“Charles... You know there are rumors saying that you're going to marry her. She is a wealthy heiress, and you always need the money. Are you going to marry her?” So soon, after your wife's death, was what he didn't add. A quick remarriage wasn't improper, but after his friend's disaster of a first marriage, he couldn't believe that he would willingly remarry so quickly.

 

Charles sighed, running a hand over his short-cropped hair. “I thought about it,” he said honestly. “She's a pretty little thing, isn't she?” 

 

“Indeed she is. But...?”

 

“No,” his old friend said, and his voice was firm, though tired. “I can't marry anyone right now; I can't do that to another woman. You were right, those times you wanted me to try and fix things with Margaret. I... My little daughter, a child of ten, saw more clearly than I did. She saw that I was destroying a woman I claimed to love. I can't... I cannot trust myself to marry again, for love or more practical reasons, until I'm certain I won't do that again. So no, Mistress Willoughby will remain my ward and nothing more.”

 

“You're sure about that?” Tony asked, and Charles nodded, his expression resolute. 

 

“Cathy will be disappointed,” Kate remarked that night, when he told her. “She's hopeful of him, has been since his wife died.”

 

“Dead woman's shoes, is that it?” Tony wanted to know, climbing into bed beside her. Kate shook her head. 

 

“No, I don't think so. Not precisely, anyway. She's got her eye on him because, well... Brandon is quite a catch for a young girl, but she's an heiress herself, so if not him her prospects are still quite good. Enough so that she's not going to set out to seduce him, or anything like that.” She made to blow out the last of the candles, but Tony caught her arm.  
  
“I'd rather it not be full dark, tonight,” he said, with a slightly impish smile. Kate raised her eyebrows. 

 

“In your friend's home, Sir Anthony?” she said, unable to keep the amusement from her voice. 

 

“Stone walls are thick,” Tony said carelessly, before pulling his wife close for a kiss. He wasn't going to soon forget the pain in his friend's eyes as he spoke about Margaret, and one of Tony's goals in life now was to never have the same kind of regrets.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Cromwell stood by the King's chair as he signed the last of the documents, debating whether or not now was a good time to bring up Cranmer's thesis. It had been a surprise to him when his soft-spoken friend had come up with the idea, eyes lighting up as he talked about it. But then, it was Thomas Cranmer, at his best when dealing with some theological tangle.

 

“Is that it?” the King's irritated voice interrupted his musings. Cromwell looked up.

 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said evenly.

 

“Thank God,” the King said with a sigh, handing Cromwell the various papers. He took them and made to leave the room, deciding that he might as well bring up the idea now, in spite of the King's obvious exasperation. Deliberately, he took three steps forward and then hesitated, as though debating with himself.

 

“What is it, Mr. Cromwell?” Cromwell turned around.

 

“Your Majesty, I...” Best not to seem too eager...

 

“Mr. Cromwell!”

 

Then again, perhaps he had better seem a bit less hesitant, before he really angered the King. It was a delicate balance, trying to find the best way to approach his irascible sovereign, and to be honest, Cromwell was still learning the best ways to do so.

 

“I must beg Your Majesty's forgiveness and indulgence before I...” 

 

“Go on,” the King said impatiently, gesturing with one hand. 

 

Now or never. “I had cause, recently, on a visit to Waltham Abbey, to speak to a learned friend there. We spoke... about Your Majesty's Great Matter. We, uh, we came to the conclusion that Your Majesty's advisors might not, perhaps, be approaching the Matter in the most convenient way to solve it,” he continued, taking a step forward as he spoke.

 

“You mean through the courts?” the King asked, sounding more thoughtful now than irritated.

 

“Yes. As Your Majesty well knows, kings are set above the law. They are answerable to God alone, who anointed them.” It was a calculated risk, but while he wasn't entirely sure that Lady Anne had been lending the King her books, the earlier conversation with Ambassador Chapuys certainly implied it, and so Cromwell thought it a risk well worth taking as he stepped forward once again. “So it seems to us that the Matter is not and never has been a _legal_ one. It is a _theological_ one.”

 

The gamble paid off, with the King looking intrigued by the concept. “But in that case, who should pass verdict upon it?”

 

Cromwell leaned against the table, letting his polite facade drop and the intensity show through. “We would suggest that Your Majesty canvass the opinion of theologians at colleges around Europe. Their sentence would be soon pronounced, and could be implemented with little enough industry. But by that simple measure, I trust that Your Majesty's troubled conscience might be pacified.” 

 

There was a ghost of a smile on the King's face, but Cromwell didn't allow even a hint of his sense that he had succeeded to cross his own expression. Knowing it was enough, he didn't need to show it. “Will you write a paper, showing your argument?” the King asked.

 

“If Your Majesty trusts me to do so.”

 

“No. I _command_ you to do so. And then I command you, as a royal agent, to visit the universities in Europe. I want the opinion of their theological faculties as soon as possible!”

 

Well. That had been unexpected. But Cromwell bowed, picking up the papers again and heading for the door. “Thank you, Mr. Cromwell,” the King called from behind him. Cromwell turned, bowed again, and then walked out of the room. 

 

Back in his office, he sat down behind his desk and drummed his fingers across the surface. So, he was to go back to the Continent, it seemed. He'd spent much of his youth there, as a soldier, a merchant, whatever he had to be to get by. He couldn't deny that the thought of seeing some of the places again was a pleasing one, even if he would be there on business. Of course, the question now was who to take along.

 

Rafe Sadler was an obvious choice, his ward who had been essentially his right-hand man in recent years. There were others he knew who would be helpful... And a certain young knight would possibly be interested in going, he realized. It would be a good idea to include someone in the Lady's confidence, especially knowing as he did that she was not the tool her uncle and father presumed her to be. He'd have to make the offer, and he didn't actually mind doing so.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Henry laughed at Anne's last comment before turning to her father on his other side. “I have something I would like to say to you,” he said, drawing Wiltshire's immediate attention. “I have decided to make you Lord Privy Seal. Your older two boys, Edward and George, will be made members of council, and I've also decided to make Edward a viscount. As for Thomas, he will become a knight banneret and be given a manor and income of his own upon his marriage. I understand he has little inheritance as John Seymour's second son.” The Boleyns were already high-ranking nobles; there was only so much he could give them and Henry knew that. But Anne loved her stepsiblings as much as she did the siblings of her blood, and so raising them would have the same effect.

 

“Your Majesty – I am lost for words. Your bounty is... unceasing,” Boleyn said.

 

“Hmm,” Henry said, amused at Boleyn's shock, reaching for Anne's hand and kissing it. “I also have high hopes for Mr. Cromwell,” he added, leaning closer to Wiltshire, who sobered quickly.

 

“I'm glad. He is a friend of the family.”

 

“You know his thesis?” Boleyn nodded and Henry continued. “I want you to visit the Pope and the Emperor at Bologna. I want you to put to them our new case.” Boleyn inclined his head in understanding, a faint smile on his face before he excused himself, presumably to speak to his sons about the good news.

 

Anne caught his attention, pulling him as close as she could manage with the both of them still in their chairs. “Thank you for what you have done, for my whole family,” she said, eyes bright on his face. 

 

“There's more,” Henry breathed before kissing the spot where her neck and jaw met, a spot he already knew to be sensitive for her. Pulling back, he kept his hand at the small of her back as he continued. “I've made alterations to Wolsey's palace at York Place. You said you liked it. I am giving it to you.” 

 

She was silent for a minute, and he watched as her face went oddly blank with shock before she smiled, uncertainly like she had no idea what to say, before looking down, almost as if she were going to cry. “What is it?” he asked worriedly, putting two fingers under her chin to make her look up at him. “Have I made you unhappy?

 

She gave him a trembling sort of smile. “No,” she breathed, catching his hand and holding it tightly in her own. “I would only be unhappy if you ever stopped loving me.”

 

Did she honestly believe he ever could? “London would have to melt into the Thames first,” he swore, leaning forward to kiss her, in full view of his entire court. Let them look, and let them all see how much he loved her.

 

~ ~ ~

 

He shouldn't be this angry. Edward knew that. After all, he had no claim on Ann, none at all. So he had no right to want to strangle Thomas for being her dance partner. He really shouldn't; it was unreasonable and it wasn't like him at all to care what his brother did and with who.

 

He wanted to strangle him anyway.

 

His agitation was clear enough that Jane, seated next to him, gave him a questioning look. “Ned, is everything all right?” 

 

Her use of the hated nickname didn't even register.

 

“It's fine,” he said, standing abruptly. Thomas looked to be pairing off with Jane Parker for the next set, so he caught up to Ann.

 

“Sir Edward, dancing of your own accord?” she said teasingly, laughing as she offered him her hand. Edward's jaw clenched.

 

“I do, on occasion,” he answered, voice clipped. She frowned at his tone as they moved down the line. 

 

“Have I done something to offend you?”

 

“Why would you say that?” He tried to sound indifferent but it came out more irritated than anything. Damn it.

 

She gave him a skeptical look but said nothing. However, he didn't miss the flash of something like triumph in her eyes, and it did not help his mood in the slightest. He pulled her just a bit closer than the dance allowed, his own eyes glittering with temper, frustration, and something he wouldn't have dared to name. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. “Why were you dancing with my brother for half the night?”

 

She gave him wide eyes. “I danced two sets with him, that's hardly half the night. And why shouldn't I? He's charming enough, and as far as I know he's free to dally with any woman he likes. And I'm certainly free, unless there's something I don't know,” she added. The words were provocative, but her tone was innocent. A little too innocent, in fact. 

 

“Damn you and your games,” he snapped.

 

Her tone was cutting when she replied, eyes darkening with anger. “Me, and what of you, always so damned distant and controlled? Am I supposed to know what you're thinking and never saying, is that it, now, Edward?” It was the first time she'd addressed him with no honorifics, he noted somewhere in the back of his mind, a part not distracted by the blood suddenly roaring in his ears. 

 

The dance ended, but he kept a hold on her hand, leading her out through one of the side doors. They passed Thomas More and the new Imperial ambassador, Eustace Chapuys, who looked to be talking intently about something, but for once Edward couldn't care less about someone else's intrigues.

 

Alone in a side corridor, he let her go and Ann spun to face him, hands on hips. “Well?” she demanded.

 

“For God's sake, Ann!” he burst out. “Do you want me to act the fool for you as the King does for my sister?”

 

“I want you to be clear! If you have an interest in me, then say something! I can't stand knowing nothing save for the insinuations your sisters keep making. Even this is a real reaction from you, and it's been a long time coming.”

 

There was a ringing silence for a long moment as he stared at her. Michael very well might kill him for this, but... She wanted him to be clear? Very well, he could do that. They were still close enough that it was easy to catch her wrist and draw her in. The kiss was brief but heated, and to his relief she responded with equal fervor.

 

“Is that clear enough?” he asked when they broke apart, his voice quiet.

 

“It's a start,” she conceded with a mischievous smile. He looked at her suspiciously. 

 

“You danced with Tom just to set me off, didn't you?”

 

She laughed at him. “Well, I knew your brother was the best way to get under your skin.”

 

He shook his head, not sure whether to laugh or get angry again. She really was going to drive him mad, wasn't she? Then he remembered something. “I'm going abroad,” he said. “Cromwell's got some new strategy for the annulment, and I'm to go with him to the universities of Europe and talk with the theologians. It should be interesting, but...” He hated to admit it, but under the circumstances he rather felt he'd prefer, for once, to stay here. 

 

Ann nodded. “Well, I'm not going anywhere. There's time,” she pointed out. Edward actually grinned at her, surprising even himself. 

 

“I suppose there is.”


	18. Around The Throne The Lightning Strikes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe a thank you to Thomas Wyatt, as the chapter title comes from one of his poems, the one written during his incarceration in May 1536. The actual line is “circa regna tonat” but I used the English translation.

Katherine was being prepared for bed by her ladies when Lady Anne Clifford announced a visitor.“Ambassador Chapuys, Your Majesty.”

 

Katherine turned at the sound of her lady-in-waiting's voice, standing to greet Chapuys. He bowed to her and she smiled in welcome. “Your Excellency.”

 

“Your Majesty. I have a letter for you.”

 

“From the Emperor?” Katherine asked as she took it. 

 

“No,” Chapuys said, startling her. “From Cardinal Wolsey.”

 

Wolsey? Why on earth would Wolsey be writing to her? It made no sense, but she moved to break the wax seal anyway. “This is... so strange. Do you know what it says?”

 

Chapuys nodded. “The Cardinal is offering to create a rapprochement between you and he, the Emperor, and Rome. The coup would be signaled by the arrival of a Papal edict, ordering Henry to leave Anne Boleyn and return to his marriage. The Emperor will provide financial and moral support, and insist that Wolsey be reinstated as Chancellor.”

 

Katherine gave Chapuys a searching look, her eyes hopeful. “Do you think it could work?”

 

“The Cardinal is nothing if not ingenious.”

 

That was certainly true, Katherine reflected a short time later, as she settled into bed, staring up at the hangings. She more than most had cause to know just how clever Wolsey could be; that sharp mind had been turned against her for years. And now he was her ally? It was a strange thought, but Katherine was prepared to accept it, especially with the rumors she was hearing about Henry considering the writings of heretics. Wolsey, at least, was a Catholic and would never support the limiting of the Church's power in England. Even if that were for selfish reasons...

 

She had never thought that Wolsey would turn out to be the lesser evil. Especially not when she had believed that Wolsey was the architect of the divorce. She did not believe that any longer. If that were so, then surely the king would have turned back by now, with Wolsey gone. Not only that, but they said that those most responsible for the Cardinal's final fall included Norfolk and Wiltshire, Anne Boleyn's uncle and father. 

 

So she had misjudged the situation. She still did not blame her husband; he was led astray by his lust and his pride, but she knew this could not have come from him. Not at the beginning. His pride was what forced him to stay the course, but now he would have no choice. Whatever he had said before about denouncing the Pope as a heretic, whatever his plans concerning the colleges of Europe, surely he would not go against a direct order from His Holiness.

 

She could not comprehend such an idea. It would never happen.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“I cannot believe it,” Anne said, her voice tight with anger. “My uncle and father were the ones who wanted Wolsey gone in the first place, and now Uncle Norfolk is telling the King that the Cardinal 'has many talents'!”

 

“Well, he does,” Mary pointed out fairly, though probably unwisely, as Anne glared at her. Jane, sensing danger, quickly moved to intervene.

 

“He's going along with the King, though, since right now the King's inclined to pardon Wolsey,” she pointed out fairly. “And with what I hear of the job his Privy Council is doing, I almost don't blame him.”

 

“Our brothers and our father are on that council,” Anne said sharply, and Jane shrugged. 

 

“Only George right now, with Father and Edward abroad. And while that's true, it doesn't change the fact that, as a whole, they're not doing very well, are they?” At least, that was what she'd been hearing. It tended to amuse Jane how, even knowing who she was, the sister of the woman who was likely to be Queen, people still managed not to notice her. 

 

Even Edward, who had previously had a similar talent to go unnoticed when he wanted, was having trouble now, and he said flat-out that he considered her lucky. It meant she still heard things that otherwise none of them would. Jane agreed, most of the time, though sometimes she wished people did see her.

 

“So you think that Henry should recall Wolsey?” Anne demanded. “When he is likely to do everything he can to convince Henry to leave me?” 

 

“Why would he do that?” Mary wanted to know. “He's always put his effort behind securing what the King wants; it's how he stayed in power so long and it was his failure to do so that caused his fall. Why would he risk that again?”

 

“Because I refused to help him when he asked me,” Anne said tiredly, “and so he may well want revenge for that.” She shook her head. “In any case, it's too late now. The Pope is in the Emperor's pocket; Wolsey won't do anything to lessen the power of the Church because it is the basis of his power. It's too late for he and I to come to an understanding, even if I wanted to.”

 

She had a point, Jane had to concede that. She still wasn't comfortable with the ideas Anne and her brothers were pushing – a glance at Mary suggested that neither was she – but the fact was that, at this point, the path offered by reformers did look like the King's best chance of getting his annulment. And there was no place for a cardinal in such a situation. However...

 

“If the king pardons him, what will you do?” Jane asked. 

 

“Return to the game we played before, I suppose,” Anne said ruefully. “With both of us pretending to like each other while never forgetting that we're enemies. What other choice would I have?” 

 

“I'm surprised Uncle didn't ask you to try and convince the King otherwise,” Mary said. 

 

“Well, so am I, really,” Anne agreed, “but in any case, I wouldn't risk it. After all, we must 'cultivate the King's good graces',” she said, a nasty edge entering her tone again. “He said that to _me_! What does he think _I_ do?”

 

“I thought you were in love with the King,” Mary said, puzzled.

 

“I am, but that isn't the point. He dares to talk to me of cultivating the King's good graces when all I want is to keep Henry's love. I think I am more concerned with his opinion than my uncle is!”

 

“Anne, I'm sure all he meant was that we all have to be careful, especially if the King does decide to pardon Wolsey.” Jane was not sure of that at all, from what she knew of Norfolk, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Anne, as Jane and her mother had said before, could not afford to make enemies. It would be difficult to turn Norfolk against Anne, since he would benefit from her rise, but she wouldn't help her own case with him if they quarrelled. A mild lie was a small price to pay if it calmed Anne down.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“So, how did you find the Continent?” Michael asked, raising an eyebrow. Edward shrugged, feeling almost like they were back in their school days. Michael sitting at his messy desk, Edward seated across from him as they talked. 

 

“Well, I can speak basic Spanish now,” he commented, very dryly. “That was the most useful part of being in Spain, since otherwise nothing good happened there. France was nice, and Italy... Well, Italy was an experience. As was traveling with Master Cromwell. I swear the man knows people in every city in Europe, or so it felt like.”

 

“Then you should have stories to tell,” said a third voice. Ann was leaning in the doorway, a faint smile on her face. 

 

Edward returned the smile in kind, and Michael, looking between them, burst out laughing. “I knew I should have introduced the pair of you sooner!” he said, eyes dancing. “How long have you been courting?”

 

“Officially not at all,” Ann told him.

 

“Technically there hasn't been a chance yet,” Edward said at the same time. They both looked at each other, startled, and Michael stifled more laughter with his hand.

 

“I can see this is going to be a source of constant amusement,” he said cheerfully. “Now, Ann, stop lurking in the doorway like your termagant of a mother used to do, it's very unsettling.” Ann rolled her eyes, but took a seat anyway. When she was seated, Michael looked over at Edward. “Anyway. So, you don't have anything else to share?” 

 

Edward shrugged. “There's not much else I can share; none of this is really supposed to be public knowledge. I can say that Master Cromwell will have both good and bad news for the King, and I don't envy him the task of reporting it. Especially since I spoke to my stepfather, and he didn't have even as much luck as we did. He was to meet with the Emperor and the Pope.” He shook his head. “He wouldn't say much, not before speaking to the King, but it was not good news, I could tell.” 

 

Michael leaned forward. “Do you think it'll be enough? To push the King away from the Papacy?” 

 

“I don't know,” Edward said honestly. “Anne is working on that, but it's anyone's guess, really, at this point.” 

 

“It's already started,” Ann pointed out. “And if the King does decide to pursue it... Nothing will be able to stop it then.” 

 

There was more than a bit of truth to that, and while it was something all three of them wanted... Something about the finality of it, about the change that it would bring, was still daunting, because the fact was, none of them could know what the changes would really lead to.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Cromwell only kept himself from snapping at Wyatt with a great deal of effort, at least until the poet explained that the man he wanted Cromwell to see had information about Cardinal Wolsey. Inwardly, Cromwell swore in every language he knew how to do so in. He'd suspected this would happen. Wolsey wasn't the sort of man who could go quietly into retirement, or see the fact that he still had his diocese of York – and more importantly in general, his freedom – as a blessing. No, Wolsey was the sort who thrived on power. Away from it, he would start to, well, wilt, if one were to use a gardening analogy. 

 

He had hoped that Wolsey would be wise enough to content himself with what he did have, maybe asking the King for a pension once things had died down some, but no more than that. But if someone had come to Wyatt with information to be passed on to him... Whatever Wolsey was up to was far more serious than that. Damn it. He may have turned on Wolsey, but he hadn't wanted to have to destroy him utterly. That was Norfolk, Suffolk, and Wiltshire's game.

 

But if something had happened that was serious enough to merit attention... Destroying Wolsey was probably what he was going to end up doing. Damn!

 

Augustus de Agostini was a vaguely familiar face from Cromwell's days in Wolsey's retinue, and the man was as frustrating as ever, with the impediment that made him twitch and stutter over his words. But stuttering didn't make him unintelligible.

 

“Sir, I know that W-Wolsey sought the help of the Emperor and the P... P...”

 

“The Pope?”

 

“Yes, Your Honor, His Holiness the Pope, against His M.. Majesty.”

 

It was more or less what he'd suspected, but even so, Cromwell wanted to be absolutely certain. “They communicated?”

 

“Yes... Yes...”

 

“And who else?” He wasn't sure who else could be involved – Chapuys, maybe, as a go-between? – but he asked in any case, because there might be. Of course, it could also be...

 

“Wolsey conspired with Queen... Katherine... because he s-said it was the only way he could be-e...” 

 

“Restored to power,” Cromwell finished for him, not really needing to hear the other man's shaky affirmation to know he'd guessed right. Dear God, Katherine. He wasn't sure who was the bigger fool for going along with this, the Cardinal or the Queen. Well, the Cardinal in the short run, but in the long run... Unlike Wolsey, Katherine didn't have to fear a charge of treason and an ignoble execution, but there were other ways to be... put out of the way. Did she not realize that? And honestly, even if it had worked, did she honestly believe the King would ever forgive a woman who _forced_ him back to her side?

 

Had either Katherine or Wolsey used any common sense at all?

 

“The King must know of this,” he said matter-of-factly, striding away. He did not want to be the bearer of this news, but he certainly didn't want anyone else to beat him to it. He'd never thought the Cardinal an idiot before, but this... This plot of his had been a monumentally _stupid_ idea.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“Now that you know the truth, you must act against him,” Anne said firmly as she fetched the cards from the box. She turned from the table and walked up behind Henry, her voice growing in passion as she did so. “He and his fellow priests and prelates think they can control Your Majesty's realm! That they are higher than you. And by taking instruction from the Pope, was not Wolsey acting as an agent of a foreign country?”

 

She was getting no response from Henry, who continued to stare moodily into the flames, so she added more passion to her voice, playing on his pride. Anything to get some sort of reaction from him; this brooding silence was unnerving. “The presumption of the Pope! Thinking that he could tell you – _you!_ – what to do!”

 

He was still silent, and Anne turned away, frustrated. Then, Henry broke the silence. 

 

“He was almost a father to me.” She turned around, watching him carefully, but he was still staring into the fire, not even glancing at her. “My father was a very good King, but that came at a price, and one of those prices was a lack of skill when it came to fatherhood. Between them, the Cardinal and Thomas More have been... They filled that space in my life.” 

 

He looked at her, and there was real pain in his eyes. It was enough to make her wish, for a moment, that her family had left Wolsey alone. His strategy, after all, had been the obvious lashing out of a desperate man. But she told herself that Wolsey would have betrayed Henry's trust and love eventually anyway; that all her family had done was push that event a little bit sooner. 

 

Anne walked back over, wrapping her arms around him as she stood behind his chair. She felt she ought to say something, to express sympathy or sorrow that it had turned out like this. Something. But what could she say? If she said that she wished it hadn't happened, that Wolsey was still at court and still Henry's mostly-loyal Chancellor, even with the pension from the French, she would be lying. But she did regret that pushing Wolsey from power had hurt Henry. 

 

So really, there was nothing to say. When they had their own family, she would make it up to him, wouldn't she?

 

~ ~ ~

 

Wolsey sat on the hard cot in his prison cell, fingering the rosary he had been allowed to keep. So, it had come to this, in the end. He almost couldn't believe it, and yet, in the end, it didn't surprise him, not really. He'd always known that to be close to power, to the throne, was to live on a knife's edge, and that he risked losing everything if he stepped wrong. He had always known that Henry could be ruthless – he'd sent two of his father's most loyal men to the scaffold so that the people would have someone to blame for unfavorable policies. 

 

And Wolsey himself had done no different. He found himself thinking of Cromwell's predecessor as Secretary, Richard Pace. Pace had done nothing wrong, but Wolsey had framed him, in order to hide his own dealings with the French. He hadn't thought about that in some time, but now he remembered that Pace had gone mad in prison, and his family had been forced to shut him away once he was released. And even with all that effort, and the sacrifice of an innocent man's sanity, he still ended up here.

 

He'd still been dragged away at dawn, with Joan forced to watch. God, Joan... He couldn't get his last sight of her out of his head; she'd been collapsed on the step, sobbing. All he'd wanted was another moment to comfort her – though he had been pathetically grateful to Brandon for giving him that brief moment before he was shackled to say good-bye. 

 

_“There, there, Joan, no tears. No tears for me, I beg you. Forgive me, that you have not much to remember me by._

 

_“No. I have a life, and everything in it, to remember you by._

 

He thought of their children, Thomas and Dorothy Wynter. He hadn't had the chance to see them again, but he prayed that they would care for their mother, protect her the way he no longer could. It was his own fault; he had been unable to let her go, all those years ago when they first met, to make an honorable marriage that would ensure her some kind of rights even in widowhood. She'd always told him she didn't regret staying with him, but now he regretted that she had, knowing he was leaving her alone in this world.

 

With a grim sort of humor, Wolsey wondered what it would be like, that final trip to the scaffold. But his mind rebelled against it, not because he was still in denial, but because... He could not face that. He could not, would not, die like that. He was not a traitor. Everything he had done, he had believed it to be for the good of the country. Had it served him as well? Of course it had. But he had not betrayed his country or his King. 

 

He was no traitor, and he would not die as one.

 

Glancing around the room, his eyes fell on the roughly-made table, a plate with an apple and cheese set on it – and a knife. Almost in a daze, he set down the rosary and stood, walking to the table. He picked up the knife, looking it over, but admittedly judging blades was not a skill he'd had to use since his day's in his father's butcher shop, and the knowledge had all but vanished. So he tested it on the apple, relieved when it cut cleanly.

 

He set the knife down again, turning back to the cot and the crucifix above it. He knelt by the side of the cot, reaching for his red miter and putting it on his head. For a moment he was silent, crossing himself as he searched for the words. 

 

“Lord, we have not spoken as often or as long as we should. I've often been about other business. If I wanted forgiveness I should ask for it, but... For all that I have done, and all that I am yet to do, there can be no forgiveness. And yet, I think, I am not an evil man, though evil men pray louder, seek penance, and think themselves closer to Heaven than I am. I shall not see its gates, Lord, nor hear Your sweet words of salvation. I have seen eternity, I swear, but it was only in a dream, and in the morning all was gone. I know myself for what I am. And I throw my poor soul upon your forgiveness. In the full knowledge that... I deserve none at Your loving hands.”

 

His prayer finished, Wolsey stood slowly, crossing to the table again and taking the knife in his hand. How... ironic, to die by a blade he himself wielded, when all his life he'd longed to escape holding any sort of blade, hoping never to slice through a throat and smell the odor of blood again. He closed his eyes as he brought the blade up, so much flashing through his mind, all the moments of his life, in that last second as the knife bit into his throat... 

 

~ ~ ~

 

Hal made it to the point when the ribbons signifying blood were pulled from the collar of the man playing Wolsey, and then he could no longer stand it. Wiltshire, Norfolk, and Suffolk all seemed to think it the height of entertainment, as did all three of Mary's brothers. Including Thomas, who had been in Wolsey's household alongside Hal. The King wasn't here, and he wasn't afraid of his wife's relatives, so he stalked out of the hall, not caring what anyone thought, if they tore their gaze from that disgusting spectacle long enough to notice him leaving at all.

 

Mary noticed, of course, and she followed him out. “Hal? What is it?”

 

“I can't watch that,” he said grimly. “The Cardinal was far from perfect, but he didn't deserve that.” He wondered who was behind it; Anne was the creative sort and recently she had been allowed to stage several masques. But neither she nor the King was present, and the malice of it seemed more like something Wiltshire would do. “Mary... Do you really want to stay at court?”

 

She blinked at him, obviously surprised. “I... Anne needs her family here, but you know how I feel about the court.”

 

“You don't like it any more than I do. To be perfectly honest, Mary, I don't know what good we're doing. Anne confides in you and Jane both, but you yourself have said she's closer to Jane. I have no interest in schemes for power, and to be perfectly frank, I'm not comfortable with the religious entanglements. We can help Anne at home, by fostering support for her among our tenants and neighbors. We're not doing much good here.” 

 

Mary sighed, adjusting her hood. “I feel bad leaving Anne right now, and the others as well; I'm the oldest and I feel a responsibility to them. But you're right. And there's Jamie as well; we can stop at Hever to see him before we go north, can't we?” 

 

Hal smiled at her, relief in his eyes. “So it's settled then. We're going home.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

“You were missed,” Jane said evenly when Anne slipped back into their shared apartments. “Father and the Duke of Norfolk asked where you were during that... masque. Who was behind that, anyway?” she continued, her nose wrinkling with distaste. She hadn't liked Wolsey either, but there was a difference between celebrating a victory and being, well, downright petty. 

 

“I suggested who should be in it,” Anne admitted, looking a bit uncomfortable in the face of Jane's attitude, “but it was Papa's idea to begin with.”

 

“And it provided a good distraction,” Jane said severely. “Anne, you didn't lie with him, did you?” 

 

Anne shrugged, not looking at her sister. “It... depends on what you mean,” she said evasively. “I won't be getting pregnant from what we did, but I suppose I came quite close to being his mistress in truth, if that is what you want to know.”

 

Jane set down the elaborate needlework portrait she had been doing – it was an extremely accurate reproduction of one of the palace gardens – to give Anne her full attention. “Are you sure that was wise?” she asked seriously. She believed, as Anne did, that the King loved her – or at least, that he thought he did. But he was so changeable, and if he suddenly decided that Anne was not chaste enough for him... He could get considerably more support for his annulment if he tossed Anne aside in favor of marrying some foreign princess.

 

Anne sighed. “I don't want to be wise all the time!” she said, running her hand through her hair in frustration. “I just want to be with the man I love. And... More practically, since I know I have to think that way, I can't hold him off forever. There's only so much of it either of us can stand.” She tossed her hat on the bed, temper getting the better of her. “Why won't she just retire?” she snapped. “This could all be over so quickly; Katherine could go to a nunnery, Mary's legitimacy would be preserved, and Henry and I could marry. Katherine practically acts as a nun already, what would the difference be?”

 

Jane didn't know what to say. What could she say, really? “Just be careful,” she said finally, at a loss for anything else. 

 

Anne turned to look at her, a rueful smile on her face. “I'm as careful as I can be, Jane, but I won't get anywhere without taking a few risks.”

 

And that, Jane thought seriously, was the entire problem here. It was too great a gamble, and if it were her, she would never take it. But it wasn't; it was Anne, and she was just a supporting player. All she could do was help where she had the chance, and pray that it all worked out. 

 

Hopefully that would be enough.

 


	19. Uneasy Lies The Head

Cat was sitting in front of the mirror as her maid brushed out her long blonde hair, hands folded quietly in her lap. She had to admit, it was considerably easier to face her wedding day after the conversation she'd had with George at the Northumberlands' London house. And those which had followed. Marriage had always been her fate, and for most of her life she'd known she was meant for Wiltshire's only son and heir, but... Mary had realized that only seeing each other from a distance was making things awkward between them, and so now, not quite two years later, Cat owed her quite the thank-you for that evening at her London home.   
  
“ Cat! Cat!” She stood abruptly at the familiar voice, laughing at the sight of her little brother. “Henry! What are you doing here?” she asked, lifting him up. She was still in her shift, after all, not her gown, so it wasn't as though she had to fear mussing her clothes. Besides, she hadn't seen her little brother since the day he'd been sent to live in the household of Henry Fitzroy. The boys were nearly of an age, with her brother being the elder by a few years, so it had been no real surprise.   
  
“ Father said I could come to your wedding, so here I am, and Beth brought me to your room.” Cat looked up, and sure enough, there was her younger sister Elizabeth, smiling her shy smile.   
  
“ Beth, come over here,” Cat said firmly. She set Henry down and hugged her sister tightly. “You're growing into a real beauty, Lizbet,” she said, using the nickname only she was allowed to call Beth by.   
  
“ Thank you, sister.”   
  
“ Why so formal?”   
  
Beth shrugged. “Father said I ought to be, now that you're a grown woman and getting married to an earl.”   
  
“ Technically, his father's the earl, and I will only be his countess by courtesy,” Cat pointed out, “but even were it otherwise, that's ridiculous. I'm still me, I'm still Cat, even if people will call me Lady Ormonde after today.”   
  
“ You promise?” Henry asked, looking up at her.   
  
“ Of course I promise,” Cat said firmly. “Now, the two of you had better get back to our father; I don't imagine he'd be thrilled to know you're here.” Considering their father's chilly behavior toward his children – not callous like her father-in-law-to-be, but more or less indifferent – he might not care all that much, unless they caused a scandal, but better to be safe.   
  
She turned back to the mirror and allowed her maid to dress her and finish with her hair, before she looked in the mirror again. Her dress was silvery-blue, her hair left to fall freely down her back in loose waves, save for a garland of small, bright blue flowers. She supposed that she looked well enough, and the silk of the dress had been her own choice, a quiet homage to Melusina and her Woodville blood.   


Cat lifted her chin and walked out of the room, meeting her father on the way to the royal chapel. It was a very great honor, to be married there, and the King himself had decreed it, a sign of honor toward the family of his intended bride. Cat did her best not to think of how, in spite of that, Queen Katherine had given her a blessing yesterday, for a happy and fruitful marriage. She might find the Queen illogically stubborn, but gestures like that made it difficult to actually dislike her.   
  
George was waiting for her in front of the altar, and he gave her a fleeting smile as she took her place next to him. She returned the smile before focusing her attention on the priest as he began the ceremony.   
  
Later there was a wedding feast, turned into an event for the court in general – or at least for the King's and Anne's favorites. Cat spent most of it with her brother and sister, noting with some amusement that George seemed to be doing the same. It looked like his older brother – Edward, she didn't know him at all except by sight – was trying to keep him from drinking too much, but kept getting distracted by Anne's lady-in-waiting Mistress Stanhope, so the task ended up falling to Jane. Perhaps it was odd that Cat didn't really feel the need to go over there, even though she did dance with George several times. But, to be honest, she'd missed her family, and marriage felt like... losing the last of her childhood. She would keep the dregs of it until the wedding night, thanks ever so.   
  
She was left in George's bedchamber before he got there, alone in the dim light provided by candles. Footsteps behind her made her turn from the window she'd been standing at, meeting her new husband's blue eyes. “I hope you're not too drunk,” she said, her voice a bit shaky.   
  
“ No,” George said. “Ned and Janey saw to that.” He stepped closer, and Cat took a deep breath, surprised when he pulled her to him instead of simply telling her to get into bed.   
  
“ This  _ can _ be fun, dear wife,” he said in her ear, humor in his voice. Cat gave him a sharp look, and then he kissed her, and she decided she might wait and see if he was right about that.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Anne had done her level best to be happy for her brother during his wedding. In the time since Mary's little dinner at her London house – and she and Hal were still in the North, bad weather keeping them from traveling to court for the wedding, that or Hal's dislike of the court, Anne didn't know which – George and Cat had been getting to know each other. Mostly in secret, at the Wiltshire London home or at Anne's Durham House. So they'd been working their way towards a marriage that would at least be content, if not a passionate love affair. That was Jane's observation, anyway; Edward's had been that George was acting sensibly for once in his life.

 

Actually, Edward was being less sensible than George in that area, if the way he and her lady-in-waiting Ann Stanhope looked at each other was any indication. Again, Anne tried to be happy for them, truly she did, but...

 

It was so hard to see George getting married, to know that Edward could propose and be married not long after that, when she had been stuck in limbo for four years now. Today Henry had called Convocation, to see if he'd gotten the new title he had been seeking, the title that would give him his right as head of the English Church. Hopefully he would come to see her when it was over, and until then she was trying to distract herself with a book. It wasn't theology for once; it was actually a romance sent over from France. Frivolous, but she didn't want anything weighty at the moment.

 

The sunlight slanted through a crack in her closed curtains, and she was about to move so the light would be out of her eyes when she heard footsteps. Looking up, she saw Henry and moved to stand, but he raised a hand, shaking his head slightly.

 

“No. Don't get up. Stay like that,” he said as he came closer. Anne set aside her needlework and smiled up at him. “You're so very beautiful. So very desirable. I have to possess you utterly.” The last words were nearly a whisper, as he closed the distance between them and leaned over her, his hands on the window seat. Closing the slight distance that remained between them, he kissed her, and she returned it with equal heat.

 

Henry broke the kiss, but held her gaze with his own, pushing her skirt to the side and sliding a hand up her leg. “I can't wait,” he whispered.

 

“Oh my love. Just a little longer, and then...” She moved to initiate another kiss, but his hand came up to rest on the side of her neck, and he used his thumb to push her head to the side.

 

“I am made Head of the Church of England,” he said, and she could hear the satisfaction in his voice. She caught his hand in her hers and turned her head to look him in the eye.

 

“Is it true?” He nodded. “Then I am so glad,” she continued, kissing his knuckles. “At last you have your right, and can do as you will.”

 

“I'm going to have Cromwell refurbish some of the apartments in the Tower. Every Queen of England stays there, before her coronation.” He kissed her fingers and left her. She watched him go, only noticing that her father was standing in the shadows of her room after Henry had gone. Clearing her throat, she rearranged her skirt.

 

“Papa!” At the look on his face she added, “What's wrong? Don't you want to celebrate?”

 

“It's far too early for that,” he told her grimly. “The bishops were not really defeated. By default they voted to make the King head of the Church, but only as far as the law of Christ allows. You don't need to be a clever lawyer to know that the law of Christ may be used to invalidate the vote itself.”

 

Every time she thought they were making progress, it seemed that they hit another obstacle in the path, Would it never end? “So it was all for nothing,” she said, standing and walking to her father's side.

 

“No, not for nothing. The principle has now been effectively conceded by most of them. As George told me their resistance and recalcitrance really stem from only one man, that bloody Bishop –”

 

“Fisher...,” they finished together. Damn it, Fisher. Katherine's counsel at Blackfriars, and now the main person in the way of making Henry head of the Church. Anne remembered the old story about how King Henry II had wondered aloud “who will rid me of this troublesome priest?” She rather thought that, between Wolsey and Fisher, she could relate to the long-dead King quite well.

 

~ ~ ~

 

It wasn't, perhaps, the most ladylike of occupations, but being the sister of the Queen-in-waiting had its perks. One of them was that Jane could risk flouting the small conventions; everyone expected her to be like Anne when they paid attention to her at all, so when she wasn't, it didn't matter what she did otherwise as long as it wasn't too dramatic. And sitting in one of the palace gardens with her sketchbook was hardly that. It might raise an eyebrow or two, but that would be about the extent of it. Besides, she hadn't had a chance to slip off by herself and draw for some time. She'd been helping Cat prepare for the wedding, keeping Anne calm while the Great Matter stalled, trying to convince Edward to just propose before he and Ann both died of the wait, and...

 

It occurred to Jane, sometimes, that she had more or less turned into her siblings' second mother. It likely had something to do with her having reached her twenties still unmarried. Sometimes, though, she wished they needed a little less looking-after; it would be nice to have a bit more time to herself now and again.

 

So she took advantage of the chance for some time to herself, because it was a rare indulgence these days. Sketching the gardens was a lot easier than drawing people – the rosebushes and the hedges were stationary, after all. But it had been long enough that she didn't even mind the ease of it. Embroidery was all well and good, she enjoyed creating pictures with needle and colored thread, but she missed paper and charcoal sticks, the gray powder rubbing off on her fingertips.

 

This circular garden connected with another, and Jane could hear voices coming from the garden next to the one she'd settled in. The King, and... Oh. Suffolk. Well, as long as they didn't see her, as she still felt uncomfortable around the King and she didn't particularly like Suffolk. In spite of herself, though, she found that she was straining to listen to their conversation – old eavesdropping habits from childhood died hard, it seemed.

 

“Charles, why don't you marry again? My sister has been gone for nearly two years now; she would want her son and daughter to have a mother in their lives.”

 

Silence, except for the sounds of footsteps breaking the occasional twig on the grass. Then: “They have their older sister. And to be honest, Your Majesty, I've come to think I'm not meant to be a married man. A happy marriage is a blessing, but I'm not sure I can find such a thing.”

 

Jane thought rather cynically that he'd never find himself in a happy marriage unless he made some kind of effort to do so. And he didn't seem the type to do that, even when he'd theoretically married for love. She did wonder, idly, about this older sister; the only Brandon children she knew of were Princess Margaret's twins. But it wasn't any of her business.

 

Admittedly, the entire conversation was none of her business. But she couldn't very well not hear them when they were nearby – they weren't troubling to lower their voices, after all. Still, she did her best to ignore them until they were out of earshot. Really, her sketches were a far more pleasant use of her time.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Mark Smeaton had never really expected to come to court. He had always known he'd be making his living as a musician, but he'd resigned himself to teaching music for money, and playing for himself. At least, he'd thought ironically, he'd never have to worry about supporting a family, since marriage – and in fact women – held no appeal for him.

 

Thomas Wyatt had changed all that. Well, no, to be honest, Thomas Tallis had changed all that. Tallis was an old friend of his; they'd learned together once. But Tallis had gone to court and Mark to a teaching job, and they'd not met again until he got married to a maid of honor named Jane. At the wedding, where he'd played for them, he met Wyatt, and when Tallis left court with his wife – she was somehow ill, though he would not say what troubled her – he suggested that Wyatt contact Mark, and bring him to court instead.

 

So here he was, waiting on the sidelines as Wyatt made his bow to Lady Anne Boleyn, who was likely to be Queen soon. “Lady Anne. You are to be congratulated for reaching so high.”

 

“And I see you are raised too!” Anne said, looking Wyatt over.

 

“We simple poets sometimes have our uses.”

 

“I shall never forget that you were friendly to me when I first returned from France, and before at the summit at Val d'Or.”

 

“You are too kind, my lady.” Wyatt cleared his throat, and then beckoned to Mark. “May I present Mark Smeaton, dancing master, musician, and generall all-around genius.”

 

“Mr. Smeaton,” Lady Anne said with a smile, offering him her hand to kiss, which he did, before rising from his bow with a smile.

 

“My lady.”

 

Lady Anne's eyes fell on the instrument Mark carried everywhere. “You play the violin?” she asked, obvious interest in her eyes.

 

“Yes, my lady.”

 

“Will you show me?”

 

Of course, a request from so high a lady was not a request but a nicely phrased order; however, even if it had been a normal request Mark would have been happy to do it. He enjoyed teaching; it was one of the reasons he'd chosen it as his initial career. Another man might have been distracted by Lady Anne's closeness as he stepped up behind her, his hands over hers as he guided her movements. But for him he was focused on the lesson.

 

The lady's delighted laughter as shaky music was produced from their joint playing told him that he'd secured his job. Shouldn't it have been more difficult than that?

 

~ ~ ~

 

The skittish cook left the room and Edward straightened from where he'd been leaning against the wall. “I'm not sure this is a good idea,” he said grimly. His stepfather gave him a cold look.

 

“Don't tell me you're squeamish, Edward?” he said dismissively, and Edward resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

 

“No, it's not that. I'm merely concerned. Even threatening the man's family might not be enough to ensure his silence, not if he's caught and tortured. And if he does manage to hold his tongue, even then... Killing Fisher? Who stands to gain from that? Us, obviously.”

 

“Not just us, though,” George pointed out. “The King himself, maybe; he wouldn't do it, but perhaps through Cromwell?”

 

“And no one is going to accuse the King,” Edward said dryly, “so that still leaves us as the primary suspects. Admittedly, without proof of our involvement it will just be rumor, but can we really afford yet more damage to our collective reputations? Especially if they decide Anne must have been a part of the plot. We know she isn't, but no one else does.”

 

“Then what do you suggest? Getting him on our side?” Boleyn's voice was derisive, but Edward didn't let it get to him.

 

“If I thought it was possible, yes, actually. But I'm no fool; that won't happen unless an archangel came down from on high to tell Fisher to abandon the Queen. I'm not even sure that would do it. But I would suggest poisoning him slowly, and make it look like an illness.”

 

Boleyn shook his head. “Under other circumstances, I might even agree with you,” he said, conceding the point. “The trouble is, such a plan would take months even to sufficiently weaken Fisher, and we don't have that much time. As it is, of course people will suspect us, but the point is that they won't be able to prove it, and in any case our family has the protection of the King. Even if they can prove it, it won't matter. I doubt the King would mourn Fisher. Now, More on the other hand... the King might mourn him, or else I'd have sent a poisoner his way as well.”

 

Damn, Edward couldn't really argue with that. He and George left the room soon after, and parted ways after that; he didn't know where his stepbrother was going, though from the look on his face he was either going to a brothel or to visit his wife. As for Edward, he needed to clear his head, and so he went for a ride. The sky was growing dark by the time he returned, and he barely had time to wash and change before joining his family in the hall for dinner. He hadn't been missed, so he didn't need to field any awkward questions, at least.

 

Afterwards, he headed out into one of the gardens – he wasn't in the mood to deal with the small talk tonight. There was a slight chill in the air, but he sat on one of the benches, lost in thought. This plan to kill Fisher, he didn't... He had a bad feeling about it, somehow. It wasn't that he disapproved, merely that it was so obvious that they'd be the most likely culprits. The King's favor would protect them, but coming to rely on that would be unwise – as the late Cardinal Wolsey could attest.

 

“You seem rather preoccupied.”  
  


Edward glanced up with a rare smile as Ann came over, sitting on the other end of the bench. “Oh, it's nothing,” he said. He trusted her, but even so, talking about assassination attempts was a foolish thing to do. “I'm just concerned about some of the plans my stepfather is making.”  
  
“I'm concerned about your sister,” Ann said matter-of-factly. “It's not my place to criticize my mistress, of course, and Lady Jane's already rung a peal over her head over it, but...”

 

“Oh, the shirts?” Edward asked tiredly. Yes, he'd heard all about that yesterday, from Anne ranting about the fact that the King still accepted shirts from Katherine to Jane ranting about Anne overreacting to foolish things. It was a pity their mother wasn't there to sort things out, but she was unwell again, and had gone to Hever in hopes that the country air would revive her. “Anne and the King seem completely reconciled today, though, so it would appear there's no lasting harm done.”

 

“That's true. Not this time, at least. But I'd be concerned about what might happen if this tendency to be jealous continues. The King won't be faithful to her forever; it's not in his nature to be faithful to any woman forever.” Ann shrugged. “But at any rate, it's not really my business. I haven't had any chance to talk to you for days, and I don't really want to waste it talking about your sister.”

 

“Well then, Mistress Stanhope, what shall we talk about?” Edward quipped.

 

She flashed him a slightly wicked smirk. “I rather thought we might not talk much at all, since we are out in a dark garden and no one is paying us any attention at all.”

 

“I rather like that idea,” he said as he drew her into a kiss.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Cromwell shut himself in his office, leaning heavily against the door. He'd never liked executions. As a soldier for hire in Italy, under the command of Cesare Borgia, he'd seen plenty of death, but in the heat of battle it was... Different. It wasn't planned or scheduled, a man didn't know the day and the hour of his death.

 

And the death he'd just seen was... Boiling a man alive, the King's new punishment for poisoners. It was horrific. And it had been so useless, too. The man could have earned at least a partial reprieve in return for information. But he had refused – why? And why had Wiltshire shown up at the interrogation, why had he and his sons come to the private execution?

 

Cromwell suspected that he knew. After all, someone had paid Rouse to poison Fisher, though probably they would not have chosen the night of his dinner party as the time to strike. And who would have benefited if he had died? Well, the King, but he was the sort to scorn the use of poison, or else he'd have used it on Katherine by now. Other than him... Well, the Boleyn faction, of course. And, unlike the King, he doubted they were averse to any method that brought them closer to their goal.

 

Oh, he didn't know for sure, and probably never would. If he was being honest, he didn't want to know for certain. The suspicion was more than enough; a warning of what could befall the family's enemies. He would do well to be cautious should he ever break with the Boleyns, that much was clear.

 

Wiltshire was a devil. Cromwell could see that; there was no true feeling behind those cold, pale eyes, save for ambition, joy at its satisfaction and anger when it was thwarted. As for the sons... They still had hearts, from what he could see, but that didn't mean they were safe to deal with. Tom was rash, impulsive, and rather foolish; one to watch for harebrained schemes but little else. George was clever but somewhat lazy; Edward, on the other hand, was a budding mastermind, and both of them were ones to watch in the future. He didn't mind working with either of them, though. At least, as long as it served his interests, and those of the Reformation.

 

There were the women, of course. Mary and her husband were all but irrelevant in terms of the court since they avoided it. George's wife Catherine was still an unknown quantity, though that was to be expected of a Grey and a Woodville. Margery Boleyn was not long for the world, or so the rumors said, but in the meantime she was listened to and respected by her children, both by blood and by marriage. She had influence on them, if not her husband.

 

And of course, there was Anne herself. The King's love had not waned at all; if anything, it had grown stronger through adversity. She held power and was learning to use it, and like Cromwell she was a reformer. The hope of her taking the Queen's throne held great promise for the future of the true religion in England. Always at her side was Jane, who had a talent for fading into the background. Even so, he suspected that she was the one who steadied Anne's mercurial nature, and possibly acted as the conscience of all her siblings.

 

Those were the players on the chessboard, he thought, and he was among them as well. Allying with the Boleyn faction was the wise move for him at the moment, both because it would bring him the King's favor and it would mean he was not a possible enemy to the Boleyns. He didn't want them sending him soup. And as for the future, well, who could say? But he would be warned by the attempt on Fisher, and not be caught unawares. That, after all, had been Wolsey's mistake, and Cromwell did not intend to go the way of his one-time master.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Anne stared up at the ceiling of her bedroom in the King's lodge, wishing that Jane was with her. But no; only a handful of servants had come with them this morning, with favored courtiers to follow. Oh, she had been so happy when Henry had told her they were leaving and would come back to a court without Katherine. And when they'd arrived, it had been so wonderful to have privacy for once. She liked this quiet lodge, it was welcoming.

 

And then the message from Katherine arrived, and Henry had attacked the poor messenger. It wasn't his fault, and though she'd told him not to apologize... He shouldn't have taken out his anger on the unfortunate boy who was simply doing his job. Henry's sudden, vicious anger had frightened her, she could admit that to herself in the dark. For the first time she was afraid of the man she loved, her future husband.

 

She didn't think he would ever hurt her. He was devoted to her, she could see the love he had for her in his eyes. But if he had it in him to be so vindictive toward someone who really had not deserved it, who had done nothing but what was expected of him, what would he do to someone he actually felt had wronged him? Oh, she'd heard the rumors about his threats to Katherine concerning Mary, his emotional blackmail of her using their daughter. It was impossible not to.

 

Anne had always dismissed it either as exaggeration or as Henry being cruel out of necessity. But what he'd done tonight had not been necessary, or even rational. He had simply lashed out, his temper taking full control. Oh, she'd seen him lose his calm like that before – she remembered the wrestling match during the Cloth of Gold summit. But even then it had been more about pride, for both of the Kings.

 

It hadn't frightened her. Not like this did. And some part of Anne feared, even as she tried to dismiss the very thought, that a similar brutal anger could be unleashed on her if she ever did something that made Henry upset with her. It hadn't happened yet, even when she had frustrated him, but what if it did? What would she do then?

 


	20. City On Fire

It was Christmas, 1531, and Charles Brandon was back at court after leaving to visit his children. He'd known that he'd have to be back in time for the celebrations, and so they'd had an early Christmas at home first. He wondered what he was trying to do, what he was trying to prove. That he could reform, could be a good family man? He knew, from the way his interest was piqued by a pretty smile at court, that he hadn't really changed.

 

Though there weren't as many of those this year – the Queen and her ladies were gone, and Anne had a much smaller household. After all, she wasn't Queen yet. But it wasn't as though her few ladies were much temptation anyway; save for the new one, whose name he didn't know, they were spoken for by the men of Anne's family. Catherine was George's wife, and everyone expected Ann Stanhope and Edward Seymour to marry eventually.

 

There was Jane Seymour, of course, and she was pretty enough, but not the sort of woman who would set out to charm a man. In fact, she seemed almost disinterested in courtship, not that it mattered to him at all. And at any rate, he had more important things to worry about this Christmastide. Which was why he was glad when the King approached him, slinging an arm around his shoulders and drawing him away from the conversation he was having with the Earl of Sussex. “Game of tennis?” Henry asked.

 

Charles agreed wholeheartedly, but quickly sobered. “May I speak freely?”

 

“I hope so.”

 

Charles knew the risk he was taking with his next words, but he couldn't help himself. He kept thinking about how Queen Katherine had looked, so alone and sad, and... And he was thinking of Margaret as well, of her hatred and disgust for Anne Boleyn. “Are you really going to marry the Lady Anne? Whatever the consequences, whatever her history?”

 

Suddenly, he found himself pressed up against the wall, Henry's eyes blazing as he glared at him. “What do you mean, whatever her history?” he demanded.

 

“I have it on very good authority that she was once betrothed to Buckingham's eldest son, and that it was a betrothal _de facto_ , made before witnesses.” That they were former retainers of the Boleyns who had left under uncertain circumstances he did not mention. In all honesty, Brandon knew what he was saying would probably turn out to be false, but he could surely defend himself by saying that he only wanted to make sure there were no further obstacles to the King's new marriage. But if he could make Henry doubt Anne, it might be the end of her power over him.

 

Wiltshire and Norfolk, those ruthless, grasping men, would fall, and Anne, who pushed Henry to ever more radical ideas and crueler behavior, would be forever stopped from wielding such power again. It was worth the risk, he told himself, though at the fury in Henry's gaze he almost second-guessed himself.

 

“I know about that. She tells me that it was only words between the traitor and her father, not even _de futuro_.”

 

“Well, she would, wouldn't she?” The words slipped from him before he could control it, anger at being dismissed so easily on the word of Anne Boleyn robbing him of caution. He regretted it immediately when Henry's glare intensified.

 

“I said she tells me otherwise!” His voice was a snarl, and Brandon found himself roughly pushed aside before Henry stormed away. He straightened his collar and left by a different doorway, knowing that staying in the hall now was not wise. Enough people had noticed the tension that there would be stares and possibly questions from the bolder courtiers. He would prefer not to deal with that. He had enough trouble, if the look in Henry's eyes was any indication.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“Good God, what did he do?” Anthony muttered, watching Charles as he slipped from the hall. “The idiot. One of these days the King's love won't save him, if he keeps taking risks.” Kate looked at her husband, and laid a hand on his arm.

 

“You can't worry about your friends all of the time, Anthony. It isn't good for you.”

 

“With friends like mine, how can I not worry?” And, Kate reflected as she tried to think of a counterargument without success, that was certainly true. Brandon, the King, even Lady Jane, all of Anthony's closest friends tended to give one reason to worry.

 

“That's true, but even so, you have to spare some of that energy for yourself... and for our family.” She had wondered how she ought to tell him, and had considered and discarded many ways of doing so. But now she smiled when he gave her an astonished look. “Did I say something strange?” she asked, playfully. Since their marriage, the two of them had grown ever closer. Kate still wasn't sure if she loved him – not the burning passion that the songs and poems told of – but the affection was real and true between them.

 

In all honesty, she rather thought she preferred that to the sort of passion that made one's judgment vanish entirely. While she would never dare to question her King, no one could deny that passion was leading him to make some wildly risky decisions. Kate preferred to keep her head relatively clear.

 

“You know very well what you just implied,” Anthony said, frowning at her. “I... When?”

 

“The midwife I spoke to said that I should expect to be delivered in July,” she answered him, with a slight smile.

 

“Are you feeling all right? You haven't seemed sick lately or I would have noticed, but is everything else well with you?”

 

Kate nodded, finding his suddenly worried concern a bit amusing. “Honestly, Anthony, I am not going to break, I promise that much. I've been a bit tired, but so far no sickness. I'm hoping that continues, though it's unlikely. I do think I'm going to leave for the country once the Christmas festivities end, just to be safe.” Not only that, but to be perfectly honest, she didn't want her child growing inside her here. Kate didn't really like the court. Oh, it was exciting, and watching the courtiers play their games was fascinating, but she hated the atmosphere of greed, ambition, and cruelty. No child, even an unborn one, should be exposed to it.

 

“I think that would be a good idea,” Anthony agreed, glancing around the court. Kate knew that he agreed with her to a great extent; he stayed only out of loyalty to his friends, a feeling that he ought to be there to offer support and a listening ear. She didn't blame him for that, but speaking of their friends...

 

In the time since she'd first met the other woman and wondered if she had a rival for her husband's interest, Jane Seymour had actually become a true friend to Kate as she already was to Anthony. Currently, she was looking their way with some interest, and Kate tilted her head to beckon the other woman over. Pale blue eyes sized up her and Anthony as Jane approached, and she raised and eyebrow in a way very reminiscent of her sister Anne when she sat by them. “So, what news do the two of you have to share?” she asked, a bit playfully.

 

“I'm with child,” Kate said when Anthony nudged her. Jane blinked, and then smiled widely at them.

 

“Congratulations, truly.” Jane took a sip from the goblet she'd been holding when she came over. “Are you going to leave for the countryside soon?”

 

“After the New Year, unless for some reason I cannot,” Kate said. “I don't think this is the healthiest place for a pregnant woman to be, so I'll retire to the country until my child is born.” She'd stay there if she could help it, but she knew better. That wasn't going to happen.

 

“I'm not sure it's the healthiest place for anyone,” Jane said ruefully. “But no, especially not in your condition. I'll keep your husband from getting himself into too much trouble, I promise. Goodness knows I have enough practice with my siblings.”

 

Kate laughed and Jane did too, especially when Anthony scowled at them and muttered something under his breath about being outnumbered. Kate smiled at her husband and patted his hand comfortingly. But, really, considering who his closest friends were, he did need someone to watch out for him, in case they finally rubbed off on him.

 

 

~ ~ ~

 

The early January day was bright but cold, and yet the gardens were still a good place for a modicum of privacy. Ann hadn't asked Edward why he'd wanted to speak to her away from everyone, but since they had so far not gotten to the point, and had mostly walked in silence with the snow crunching under their feet, well... She was beginning to get impatient. “Edward, what did you need to talk to me about?”

 

Edward paused, turning to look at her with an oddly intent look in his pale eyes. Ann met his gaze squarely, but she couldn't deny the fact that her heart was suddenly racing. He hadn't looked at her with quite that level of intensity since the night in the corridor that had started their courtship. And there'd been anger in his eyes then; there was none now. Just a high level of emotion that she wasn't entirely sure how to read.

 

“Well, I...” He trailed off for a moment, shaking his head. “It really isn't obvious?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “I would have thought you'd guess immediately.

 

Actually, by this point Ann did have a pretty good idea; from the way he was acting and the request for privacy... Yes, she was fairly sure she knew. But she didn't want to assume, and in any case, even if she was right she wanted to hear it from him. What she suspected wasn't the sort of thing that one wanted to just guess at, after all. “I might have, but I'd rather hear you say it than guess aloud,” she said, her voice soft.

 

Edward took both of her hands in his, and really, it was amusing, when he had to know what she'd say and when he was normally such a calm man besides, to realize just how nervous he was – his hands were not quite steady, and that was an outward reaction she never would have expected from him. But he smiled, a slightly wry smile, but one that lit up his face regardless. “As my lady commands,” he quipped, and them he grew more serious again. “Ann, will you marry me?”

 

And she'd been right. But being right didn't change the sudden thrill that ran through her, or the slightly cheeky grin she threw him. “Oh, I don't know. It took you long enough to get to it,” she teased him, but she relented when she saw the flash of uncertainty in his eyes. He apparently _was_ nervous, if any part of him actually thought her joke had been serious! “Of course I will, Edward. Did you really have any doubts?”

 

“I tend to think I'm better off not assuming things, so in that sense yes,” Edward admitted. Then he smiled, and drew her in for a kiss. Ann thought, distantly, that their marriage would surprise no one at court, but this, the fact that it was a love match, that would. Most of the court believed theirs was a match of cool-headed business, and while they were both good at that... Well, there was more to them. Smiling into the kiss, she decided that she preferred to have that as their little secret anyway. Watching everyone else misunderstand was quite entertaining.

 

~ ~ ~

 

When Anne returned to her chambers, she was in a wonderful mood. The planned trip to France was a good bit of that, but also, as she and Henry had returned inside, she thought she'd glimpsed Edward kissing Mistress Stanhope. For all that some part of her resented that her brother could wed so easily, she was glad to know he was happy.

 

“Nan?” she called. Nan Saville was her newest lady, replacing Mary Talbot, who had left Anne's service after marrying the son of the Earl of Cumberland. Neither of them had been upset about that departure. Nan Saville was a much more pleasant replacement. When the young woman appeared, Anne continued, “Draw me a bath, the walk has made me cold.”

 

She walked toward her desk, pulling off her gloves as she went. “I've got such exciting news. We're going to Paris! I'm going to be presented before the King.” She fell silent abruptly when she saw what was on her desk, though. Three cards, two queens and a king. They must have been specially made, though, because the lettering... An H on the king card, a K one one queen and an A on the other. And the A card's queen... The A card's queen had her head cut off. It was an obvious message, Anne thought bleakly, all good mood forgotten.

 

“Nan?” She tried to keep her voice steady, and likely failed miserably.

 

“Yes, madam?”

 

“Who has been in the apartment today?”

 

“No one, my lady, not to my knowledge.” She didn't say it, but Anne could see the question why in the other woman's face, and while Nan was not Jane or Mary, she was someone to speak to. And right now Anne needed that, because this wasn't just another gesture of dislike. This was an outright threat, that had to come from within the court.

 

“Here is a book of prophecy,” she said, trying and failing to make a joke of it. “Here is the King, here is the Queen, and here is myself, with my head cut off.”

 

Later, Jane was the first to arrive as Anne sat by the fire in her bedchamber, trying to calm her nerves. “Anne...” She said nothing else, simply wrapped her arms around her sister and held on tightly.

 

“I expected hatred, but somehow I never thought... I knew it was dangerous, but this?” Anne said, sounding as lost as she felt. “Jane, if this is what happens to me when I have the King's love, what will happen if I anger him?” It was something she'd been wondering since Henry had fallen on that hapless groom, the day he'd left Katherine and ordered her into exile.

 

“Nothing's happened, Anne,” Jane said soothingly. “Someone's just trying to scare you.”

 

“Yes, well, they've done a good job!” Anne sighed, lifting her head to meet Jane's eyes. “I can't let this get to me, can I? I have to hold my head high and smile all the time, even though I know that most of the court hates me, and only bows to me because Henry demands it. It could have been any of them, you know. They all hate me!”

 

“Not everyone.”

 

“Nearly. And they wonder why I act so arrogantly. I need to show them that I don't care what any of them think. They can't know they've scared me.” Even Anne knew that the defiant calm, growing with each word, was brittle, and hid her fear that all of this would somehow go wrong, but she didn't care. She wouldn't let them win.

 

 

~ ~ ~

 

“I've had a letter from Mary,” George said, leaning against the wall. They were in Anne's presence chamber, for a hastily called family meeting a few days after the incident with the cards on Anne's desk. It had been decided that it was best to wait a few days, so that whoever was behind it wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing any sign that Anne was spooked. But now they were here, albeit with two new faces. He had brought Cat along, and Ann Stanhope hadn't been dismissed with Nan Saville. But then, she was marrying Edward, and had been helping them for some time with information. So it wasn't a surprise.

 

“What does she have to say?” Anne asked, drawing him from his thoughts.

 

“Well, she and Hal have been doing their best to drum up support for you among their tenantry and with their fellow nobles in the North. It's one of Katherine's strongholds, since they're conservative religiously, but since Hal and Mary are both well-liked, they're actually making some progress. Mostly among their tenants, who will support you for their lord and lady's sake rather than yours, but I don't see that the motives matter so much as the results.”

 

Anne's expression was grim. “That is good, but it's a pity it can't help me with the court or the people of London. The courtiers flock to me because of Henry, but God knows they're unreliable.”

 

“The wives of London identify with her – they see you as every pretty girl who turns every errant husband's eye. They don't think of the King's need for a son.”

 

“Also, the city has adored Katherine since she went on her knees before Henry to beg that he spare the tradesmen's apprentices – that was in... 1517, right? Evil May Day, they called it,” Tom pointed out.

 

“There's that,” Edward agreed, sounding a bit surprised that his brother actually came up with something useful. “Anyway, I've been working on spreading rumors – mostly suggesting that if Mary is Queen, the Emperor will use their blood tie to make her his puppet. It's a careful balance, not insulting Mary or Katherine too much, but making people question a female sovereign, well... Matilda, and more recently, no one wants a return to the old wars. It won't make them like you any better, Anne, but if we shift the focus onto needing a Prince of Wales, we might have something.”

 

Silence fell for a moment after that, all of them considering the issues before them. The truth was, the dislike of Anne had only grown – especially since Katherine's exile became public knowledge. Turning the tide would be difficult, especially as they were the only ones who seemed to care. George had approached his father and uncle, and they seemed to believe what Anne had wanted to believe – that the promise of a son would keep the people quiet, and the arrival of one would win them over. She had become disillusioned, as had everyone else in this room who had entertained the thought. But Uncle and Father... They still seemed convinced that the birth of a Prince would settle everything. None of their circle were the seasoned plotters that the older men were, but George still thought the older men were wrong.

 

“I don't see why we can't just try to blacken Katherine and Mary's names,” Tom said impatiently. “Instead of blaming just the Emperor, call them Spanish loyalists. Or say Katherine is, and that she'll teach Mary to be the same.” Edward rolled his eyes and was about to respond, but Anne beat him to it.

 

“It's too difficult, considering how popular they are now,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm a witch and a whore in their eyes. The Reformist minority disagrees, but I don't know that they'll be enough.”

 

“But you can do something about the court,” George said. “You've said you're worried about them. Can't you be less combative?”

 

Anne laughed bitterly. “And you think that would make them hate and envy me less? I doubt it. Besides, I cannot afford them to think me weak, and if they think I care what they say...”

 

“My great-grandmother didn't care what was said of her either. In her case, after a while, she truly did not care,” Cat broke into the conversation, her voice quiet but her gaze steady on Anne.

 

“And why should I care what Elizabeth Woodville did or didn't do? I'm not her.”

 

“No, but you're in her position. I know what my great-grandmother went through, I have her diary. I've learned quite a few valuable lessons from it, and one of them is that acting too proud, acting untouchable and remote, it will only earn you enemies. Show a little humility, or at least a little friendliness. The great lords won't forget that, while your father might be one of them and your mother's family greater still, you began as a simple Lady, the youngest of your house. They'll expect you to remember that you were once one of them, and one of the lesser among them.”

 

“You think I should submit to them?” Anne's voice was shrill with anger.

 

“No,” Jane cut in quickly. “She's not saying that at all. She's saying... Anne, you treat those of us in this room like equals, or nearly so. I know that's because we're family, but you might try extending it some. If you are at least courteous, even in the face of what you know is barely-concealed hatred, those who have not yet made up their minds about you will remember it. Even some who are your enemies, but pushed to that by family or friends, might reconsider their position.”

 

“It can't make things worse,” Edward pointed out. “At worst they'll only dismiss your change in behavior as a trick, and they won't dislike you any more for it. They won't think you weak for playing a political game, and right now they think we're all insufferably arrogant.”

 

“Father and Uncle won't change their behavior,” George observed. “Even if we all try to behave better, they won't.”

 

“That might be in your favor.” Ann spoke up now, a wry twist to her mouth. “In case you haven't noticed, Wiltshire and Norfolk were not well liked before all of this. If you appear to be different than your older relatives, it can only be to the good. And... There's something else, speaking of relatives. As grand as all of you have grown up, perhaps you've forgotten, but William Boleyn, your forebear who first gained the Boleyn titles, is still a common hero.”

 

“Father doesn't like us to talk about him,” George said. “He doesn't want anyone to remember that once, the Boleyns were the Bullens, and London mercers.”

 

“Well, that's as may be,” Ann said with a sly little smile, “but Katherine is a beloved figure, and you need to break her hold on the people's hearts. Not by insulting her, it's the wrong move, but with the stories that people like my brother Michael's mother tell to their children and the children they raise for their noble masters.” George vaguely remembered hearing that the bastard Stanhope's mother had been the trueborn children's governess. That must have been awkward, he thought with some amusement, but said nothing. Michael was a good man from what little he knew, baseborn or no, and close to both his sister and Edward. Neither would appreciate his commentary.

 

“Tell them that Anne is the descendant of London's own hero, and more recently, it was her grandfather who led the charge at Flodden, for all Katherine has been given the credit. Admittedly, she did rally the soldiers, but it was still the old earl who led the charge, his men who caught and killed the Scots King.” Edward sounded thoughtful. “It could work. Father would be furious, but...”

 

“But we have to use what we have, even something he would rather leave buried,” Anne said quietly. “This gamble is still too risky to do otherwise.” She sighed. “And... George, Cat, Jane, you have a point as well, when you say I could be more courteous. I'll hate every moment of it, but if you really think it will help me...”

 

“I can lend you my great-grandmother's diary,” Cat said quietly. “As another girl raised from subject to the King's chosen bride, you might be able to learn from her experiences. Especially as they say King Henry shares many traits with his grandfather.”

 

Anne nodded. She didn't look happy, George noted, and he doubted that she liked any of this at all – he knew Anne well enough to know that she would prefer to scoff at those who mocked her behind her back than to be courteous to them. She thought the latter was a sign of weakness – generally, he would agree with her. But he also remembered something Anne herself had said to him, when he presented her with a drawing of the Boleyn falcon pecking apart the Aragon pomegranate. _“This isn't a game. It's dangerous.”_ She'd been more right than any of them had really understood at the time, he thought now. She needed to remember what she'd known then, they all needed to remember it and not forget. Or else they might all be lost.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Tom glared at Edward's back as they left Anne's apartments, wanting nothing more than to jerk his brother around and punch him in the face. Maybe break his nose, even... “I'm not an idiot, you know,” he snapped when they were the only two in the corridor. “I saw you rolling your eyes in there, and how surprised you were that I remembered Evil May Day.”

 

“If you aren't an idiot, then I should like to see you prove it,” Edward snapped, turning around to face Tom, pale eyes like ice. “You remember one or two good things, have an occasional bright idea, and spend the rest of your time spouting foolish schemes. That does not give me, or anyone else, much confidence in your intelligence.”

 

Tom clenched his fists, and again considered swinging one of them into Edward's arrogant face. He'd have liked to do that, to hear the crunch as his brother's nose broke, see the blood. But he didn't, because however much they might hate each other, they both knew that they had to present a united family front. That was why this conversation was taking place in a deserted corridor, after all.

 

“You hate me,” he declared. “You always have, because I'm more attractive and people like me better. I'm charming and you're just a damned stick-in-the-mud.”

 

“Charming? And yet, who has managed to find a wife? You keep trying to catch the daughters of high nobles, and they keep refusing you,” Edward mocked. “You aim too high and always have.”

 

“And your wife-to-be is a mere knight's daughter, and her only family is a bastard brother who happens to be your friend. No wonder you're going to get the sister to warm your bed.” He knew immediately that he'd taken things a step too far – though, really, Edward had been the one to bring up women in the first place – and Tom allowed himself one nasty laugh before slipping away from his suddenly livid brother.

 

Really, Edward shouldn't start things he couldn't finish, though Tom admitted to himself that is last comment was a bit of a low blow. He wasn't stupid – it might not be a romance for the ages, but there was something going on there with his brother and his betrothed. Not surprising; Edward was a cold fish and Ann Stanhope was an icy bitch, they deserved each other.

 

He found himself in one of the courtyards, kicking stones absently, bored to tears. “Sir Thomas?” asked a voice from behind him. “Is everything all right?”

 

It was Jane Parker again. Not that Tom was complaining; she had been a sympathetic ear to him before, after all. “Nothing out of the ordinary, Lady Jane. My brother Edward has simply seen fit to remind me, yet again, of why I am ever so inferior to him.”

 

Jane hesitated, and then sat next to him. “If you don't mind my saying so... I think he must be jealous. He knows that you're better than he is, people like you more. So he makes sure he's the one always in your sister Lady Anne's company, and he probably speaks ill of you to her.” She laid a hand on his arm, feather-light like she wasn't sure she should. And, really, she should not; it was improper, but Tom didn't mind in the slightest.

 

He considered her words, and they made sense to him. It would be just like Edward to thwart him in such a way, after all. Even as boys, Edward had always resented him, hated that while he was the heir, their father – their _true_ father, John Seymour – had always preferred him. It was why Tom thought he should have Wolf Hall. Let Edward take some crumb from the Boleyn table; he was more one of them anyway. But he'd made sure that Tom would not be – even George was less a friend than he had been – so now he would be the only true Seymour. Why not?

 

“Sir Thomas?” Jane said, drawing him from his thoughts.

 

“You know, Lady Jane, I think you may have a point. I was a fool not to see it before.” And he was also a fool not to see the pleased gleam in Jane Parker's eyes.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“Cranmer did what?” Michael hadn't meant to be so blunt about it, but when Cromwell told him what Cranmer had been up to in Nuremberg... Well, he couldn't help himself. “I remember hearing he'd been married once before, back at Cambridge, but he hadn't finished his studies then. Now... He could be burned for this.”

 

“At the present time, yes.” In anyone else, Michael thought, that expression would look mischievous. On Cromwell, he just wasn't sure that word could apply. But the other man, oblivious to his aide's musings, continued, with an odd look in his eye like he wanted Michael to share the joke. “As to whether or not it will continue to be illegal for priests to marry, well, who can say?”

 

Michael shook his head. “You assume that the King will go that far,” he pointed out. “I don't know the King's character well, but I read his defense of the papacy when I was still at Cambridge. If Clement hadn't denied him his annulment, our King would be a happy Catholic till the end of his days. Do you really think that the Lady Anne can influence him that much?”

 

Cromwell raised his eyebrows. “Why don't you tell me? Your sister is one of her companions and about to marry her brother – your best friend at Cambridge, as I recall.”

 

“I do hope that's not why you took me into your service. I barely know the Lady, though I suppose through Edward and Ann I'm more informed than most. Truthfully, at the moment I think they are focusing their efforts on improving Lady Anne's reputation, rather than pushing for new reforms. That will likely come later, if they think they can afford to do it. Lady Anne might risk it anyway, I don't know, but Edward's not the sort to so I think he'd step in to try and stop her if that were the case.”

 

“Odd. Norfolk and Wiltshire don't seem to care about the common people – the courtiers, yes, in terms of gaining allies and thwarting enemies, but not anyone else.”

 

“I never said that the lords were involved. The most important of the handful of things I know about the Boleyn faction is this: Never assume that they all think the same way. The younger generation is rather more sensible.”

 

“Is that why I've been hearing tales in the City of Lady Anne's heroic ancestor, the son of a Lord Mayor?”

 

“It might be.”

 

“Interesting. Especially as you claim to know so little, and yet what you do know is quite useful. In any case, no, I did not employ you for these details, helpful as they are. You were a good lawyer before, if a bit green, and I need as many reformers working on the King's business as possible. And, yes, I wanted you for your connections. After all, I'm sure the future Queen's brother and sister-in-law will be glad to see you well employed, and some of that pleasure might come to me.”

 

“You want to stay in their good graces, then.”

 

“Charles Brandon is banished from court yet again, Cardinal Wolsey was sent to his grave because they did not stay in the Boleyns' good graces. So, yes, that is a place I would prefer to be.”

 

Truthfully, although Michael wasn't sure his employment would really help in that goal... He couldn't blame Cromwell. Not at all.

 

~ ~ ~

 

At the last family wedding, it was Anne whose smiles didn't quite reach her eyes. Jane had understood why; George had gotten married right around the time that the King's Supremacy was being debated, at a time when Anne's marriage once again hung in the balance. But now... Now they were scheduled to go to Calais in October, with Anne being presented before King Francis – and possibly his sister Marguerite, now Queen of Navarre. Just a few days ago, the King had given Anne lands and an income worthy of a marquessate in Wales – the Pembroke lands, inherited from his great-uncle Jasper Tudor. Her future was more secure than it had been in some time, so Anne was able to laugh and smile naturally at Edward and Ann's wedding.

 

No, to Jane's shame it was her turn for her smiles to have a hint of sadness behind them, though her joy for her brother and his new wife was genuine enough that at least the smiles were real. The only one who would really notice anyway was Anne, and she was distracted by the King, who had once again made a Court affair of a wedding for one of Anne's brothers. Jane found herself hoping that her own wedding would not be so large.

 

Her wedding. And there was the trouble, really. George and Edward were married now, Anne's marriage would come, it was just a matter of time, and Mary had missed yet another family event – but this time it was due to her just-announced pregnancy, and a wish not to risk travel right now. Even Anthony and Kate were going to have their first child before the year was out. Jane's hand tightened on her goblet of wine, and she seriously considered draining it and refilling it, again and again until her unusually dark thoughts were washed away.

 

But such things had never been to her taste. And what good would it do? Come tomorrow, she would still be the only member of the family left alone, with no way to make things any different. Tom was as unattached as she, but he was a man; he could find a wife if he wanted, flirt and bed women in the meantime. He seemed to have a preference for Lady Jane Parker at the moment – hopefully nothing would come of _that_. Jane Parker was a snake. But for Jane it was different. Sometimes she feared that her stepfather meant to leave her a spinster, tied to Anne forever as a useful companion. Jane didn't want to leave her sister's side, she loved Anne and wanted to help her, but...

 

She didn't want that to be all that her life was. She didn't want her entire world to be Anne's shadow, the confidante to all of her siblings, to some extent. Was it so wrong to want a bit of life that was her own? If her husband was a courtier, there was no reason why she couldn't remain with her sister and still try to find happiness. It wasn't the marriage bed Jane craved; she didn't have nearly as much interest in that as some. In fact, she could only remember wanting someone in that sense once, a boy she and Anne had known for years in France, who had suddenly changed in Jane's eyes. The priests spoke of chastity, of guarding against lusts, but save for that one boy, Jane hadn't had a problem with that. She simply wasn't interested, normally. Though she hoped, that if she ever did marry, such a feeling would come with time, as she knew the man better. It was possible, anyway.

 

No, what she really wanted was a family. She didn't care if she was a man's second wife, expected to stand as a mother to his children. Her mother had done that, and done it well. Margery Boleyn was here at her son's wedding, her pallor casting a bit of a shadow on the day, as all of her children knew what it meant. She would not last for much longer. But she had been mother to all of them, blood or no. That was what Jane wanted, a chance to emulate her mother and raise children.

 

She just wasn't sure they were going to let her. And even if they did... She was the only pawn the family had, save Tom, to bind others to them. What sort of man might she have to marry, for the sake of the family? Jane just didn't know, and it was that thought which had her deciding that she was going to seek the comfort of wine after all, for just this one night.

 

Tomorrow she would be her usual, pragmatic self about all this again, but tonight... Tonight, seeing the quiet sort of love between her brother and his new bride, an emotion so often missed by those around them, she was not, and chasing her unusually dark thoughts away seemed like a wonderful idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Jane isn't slipping into depression or alcoholism; she's just having a bad moment. It seemed typical of unobtrusive Jane, though, that hers comes in the middle of a family affair, subtle and unnoticed – well, as far as she knows. We'll see next chapter if she really was so discreet.


	21. I Won't Be Leaving Here Alive

Underneath the palace, near the cellars, was not the most comfortable of meeting places, so Eustace Chapuys was happy to leave once he and Brereton finished their discussion. Back in his chamber, he ordered his manservant to stoke up the fire as he sat in his chair, thinking. He prayed that Brereton would succeed in killing the Whore before much longer – in France would be ideal, as it was possible that the murder could be blamed on them, rather than the Emperor.

 

And she needed to die, now more than ever. Once, Chapuys had been sure that, even if the King's lust for his harlot did not abate, the people's hatred of her would show him that he was on the wrong path. Nothing else had, not his wife's devotion or the good sense of men like Bishop Fisher and Thomas More, but surely the outcry of the English people would. Both Chapuys and his mistress the Queen had been counting on that to weaken King Henry's resolve. And until quite recently, he had been certain that it would.

 

But then, his informers in London had started telling him of the resurgence in tales about the Whore's grandfather – some English hero, apparently. That was where Thomas Boleyn's marquessate had come from; the son of a Lord Mayor of London made good. One would think that the obviously low birth of the harlot compared to what a royal consort should be would hurt her, but... The Londoners remembered their old hero, and some of them began to speak of the Whore with curiosity, rather than dislike. He didn't understand these English. How could they even be considering a woman who had seduced their king away from his lawful wife, a woman they all admired, simply because her grandfather had saved a long-dead King before any of them were born?

 

And that wasn't the only problem. There were those, obviously paid to do so by the Whore or her family, who talked of his master. Who whispered that Princess Mary was to be merely a puppet of her cousin the Emperor – and that was why the Queen had so wanted her daughter to marry him. Oh, it wasn't her fault, they said, it was natural she should love her native land, after all. And since she loved England too, it would seem good to her that they be joined. But her nephew was using that love to steal England away, through his innocent young cousin and his good-natured aunt.

 

That was harder to fight than the other. Because there was no argument against the Queen's love for Spain, no defense against the fact that while the Emperor didn't quite plan to rule England through Mary unless they were wed, he did intend to be someone she turned to for advice and allied with unquestioningly. In that sense, it made the fact that Katherine and Mary's hopes rested on the Emperor very useful to him. Chapuys had guessed that long ago – he was no fool, after all, and he understood well enough how his master's mind worked.

 

He could pay people to deny this, but denying the truth was always difficult. Silently, he cursed the harlot's siblings – he would stake a fortune that it was not her father or uncle behind this. They barely seemed to care what the court thought of them, much less how the common people behaved. As for the Whore herself, she seemed to enjoy angering people – or perhaps that was merely her defense against the anger they would have anyway – so it would not have begun with her. So, it was one of the others, likely the elder Seymour.

 

Chapuys sighed, rubbing his temples. There was little he could do except to try and combat this new scheme with some truths of his own. The harlot was a heretic, and possibly a witch – although, grudgingly, he had to admit that was unlikely. Knowing how to seduce a man was not a black art, though it was still sinful. Still, he could use it. He would have to try. But hopefully, if Brereton succeeded, he would not have to try for long. If she died, that would fix all of this. The King would return to his senses, take back his wife, and all would be well again.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Henry only just refrained from tapping his foot in annoyance as he waited for Francis to arrive. Really, was the man late simply to infuriate him? Quite likely, seeing as it was Francis. Anne had made a comment about it on the ship – he'd complained about Francis' behavior at the Field of Cloth of Gold, and she had laughed, commenting that the King of France treated life as a joke, or so it had seemed to her and her sister when they'd lived in France. Henry wondered sardonically if Francis had treated imprisonment by the Emperor in Madrid as a joke.

 

But those days – the days when the Emperor was his fickle ally and Francis the enemy – were gone now. The French might not be his first choice, but no Englishman was fool enough to expect honesty from a Frenchman. He had come prepared for some duplicity, and he expected Francis had too. From what little he knew, the French felt much the same about the English as the English did the French. Even if he didn't need France – and God, he hated that – at least he knew what he was getting.

 

Oh, and here he was. Music played as the King of France strode forward with his noblemen behind him, a hint of a smirk on his face just like the last time they'd met. Apparently, Madrid hadn't stripped him of his arrogance. What a pity. “My dearest brother,” Henry said, ignoring the hypocrisy of his words.

 

“ _Mon fr_ _è_ _re. Mon ami_ ,” Francis said, that faint smirk still aggravatingly clear. Henry ignored it, though, instead kissing the air by Francis' cheeks in the usual fashion, and then allowing the other king to do the same with him.

 

“We are here to renew our friendship,” Henry said, “and that of our two nations! Come, let us celebrate!”

 

The feast was pleasant enough, he and Francis managing to converse rather amicably. “This is a wonderful feast, brother,” Francis said at length. “But, where is she? Where is the Lady Anne?”

 

Henry smiled to himself, thinking of the plan Anne had come up with to allow herself entrance to the feast despite the lack of French ladies to meet her. “She will be here,” he assured Francis.

 

“I am sorry that my wife and sister changed their minds about seeing her,” Francis continued. “But what do you expect?” He continued in French, and Henry repeated his words in English.

 

“Women are often variable. Only madmen believe them.”

 

“ _Exactem_ _è_ _nt_.”

 

 _And_ , Henry thought, _you didn't want your wife here because she's Charles' sister, and you aren't sure she won't make a scene. I even agree. And your sister, the new Queen of Navarre, well... Keeping all your womenfolk away is supposed to help you get the Medici girl for your second boy, isn't it?_ Henry wasn't as irritated by this as he might have been – actually, provided that Francis didn't turn on them for the Pope's sake, having an ally who could, potentially, speak to the Pope on their behalf could be useful in certain situations. If, of course, it was in Francis' best interests to speak up. But in any case, it was no more than the usual games. So he laughed along with Francis at the joke about women, and said nothing.

 

“I have it in mind, brother, that you and I should make arrangements for a joint crusade,” Francis said, leaning in close. Henry couldn't help it; his imagination was caught. Oh, he knew quite well that Francis was likely making this up, but there was an... allure to the idea. Enough at least that he wanted to enjoy speaking about it.

 

“Like Richard, Coeur de Leon?”

 

“Oui. Warriors of God! And, of course, no one would be happier than his Holiness, if we should commit ourselves to reconquer the Holy Land.” There was actual potential in the idea. Go on crusade, take back Jerusalem, and the Pope would be in the debt of England and France. Even if Henry had long since married Anne, the Pope would surely validate the marriage even if he had previously refused to. Henry no longer believed he needed the Pope, but he was well aware that having Papal approval would simplify things abroad.

 

Still, the idea was far-fetched at best, and besides... “But still. We would be joint leaders in this venture, yes?”

 

Francis laughed.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Michael supposed that it was an honor, to be included in such illustrious company. Or at least, that was the dry observation Cromwell had made, when he'd told him that the King wanted his new Chancellor on the trip to Calais, and Michael was coming because... Well, he wasn't entirely sure why. It wasn't as though Cromwell needed an assistant. “No, but your observations might be useful later,” Cromwell had said, and that was that.

 

Oh, Michael hadn't minded, exactly. He'd had a chance to talk to his sister and his best friend, and enjoy how happy they were together. He thought he enjoyed the fact that almost no one could tell they were happy and completely besotted besides more than anything, though. But Cromwell was off skulking with someone Michael guessed was probably a secret Huguenot, Ann and Edward were actually dancing – most likely because Ann had been one of Lady Anne's masked companions, and in that dress, Edward wasn't about to let anyone else dance with his wife – leaving Michael with nothing to do. So here he stood, leaning against the wall and _observing_.

 

“Well, how we do come up in the world,” remarked a voice from years ago, and Michael looked up from his wine goblet to meet Mark Smeaton's dark eyes. His own narrowed as he took in the other man's rich attire – far better than he'd had when they knew each other.

 

“And who are you to talk?” he asked mildly. “The highborn bastard and the tutor's son, both courtiers in velvet. Why, it's perfect for a song. Why don't you go write it?”

 

“I write melodies more often than lyrics. You ought to remember that.”

 

“Oh, I remember quite a lot about you,” Michael said evenly, thinking not about music but about the way Mark could make him gasp at the slightest scrape of teeth along his collarbone. Or how Mark would relax, almost boneless, when Michael tugged on those thick curls. But all of that was long over, and for the most part, Michael didn't miss it. He did resent how it had ended, still, it had been quite an unpleasant argument after all.

 

Besides, Mark had a new interest, anyway. Perhaps most people wouldn't have noticed, but he knew Mark too well. He doubted Ann remembered him, the quiet son of their music tutor, and that was for the best, really. “You do know he's married,” he commented idly.

 

Mark shrugged. “Most men are,” he said carelessly. “Most wives expect a bit of infidelity. And his lady is far too aware of her own nobility to ask demeaning questions about her husband's lovers. If he's interested as I am, there shouldn't be a problem.”

 

“You're going to get yourself in a lot of trouble one day. Seducing the lord's bastard son was risky enough, but this... I may not have liked you for a good while there, Mark, but even if I still hated you I wouldn't want to see you hang.”

 

“How very touching. I shall certainly keep your wishes in mind, Stanhope.”

 

Michael glared at him, and then drained his goblet. “You know what, Smeaton? Do as you like. I was only trying to be helpful.” He started to walk away, but Mark caught his wrist.

 

“Then let _me_ be helpful, then. Stop denying that I'm not the only one with my eye on someone new. Self-delusion didn't suit you when we were fourteen, and it certainly doesn't now.”

 

Michael jerked away from Mark's hold, grey eyes flashing. “Good luck seducing our future Queen's brother,” he hissed. “You're going to need it.” Then he walked away, refusing to continue this conversation. Mark didn't know what he was talking about, anyway. There was no one he was drawn to. Not like that, anyway. And even if he was, what could come of it?

 

~ ~ ~

 

“So, what is going on with you, hmm?” George's voice in her ear made Jane jump, and she turned to face him, confused. She'd managed to talk Anne out of making her be one of the dancers for the night, though a newly-returned Mary was happy to join the group. Cat, George's wife, had managed to avoid inclusion as well, but she was talking to Mark Smeaton, oddly enough. Jane hadn't known they were on speaking terms. Unfortunately, since Edward was dancing with his wife, Mary with her husband, and Tom with Jane Parker, while Anne had gone off to a corner with King Francis, that left George free to question her.

 

“I don't know what you mean, George.”

 

“I've never seen you drunk in your life, and yet you were practically soaked in wine by the end of the night when Edward got married. Thankfully, that hasn't happened again, but you've been quiet – even for you – ever since then. I'm surprised Anne hasn't tried to cheer you up.”

 

“George, we both love Anne dearly, but while I can tell her anything, we both know that when she's wrapped up in her own affairs she barely notices anyone else's.” Jane wasn't bitter about that – that was just Anne – but she did sound a bit tired. Too tired to pretend. “I just... You, Edward, and Mary are married, Anne's going to be Queen, and from the looks of it, Tom may have a future wife in mind himself – I don't remember him ever focusing in on one woman for so long, do you? And then there's me, somehow... Left behind. I'm happy for all of you, and glad to help when you need me, but... Can I not have anything of my own?”

 

George leaned in and kissed her cheek, reaching over to tuck a loose bit of blonde hair back into her hood. “Of course you can. And you will. We just have to find the right match for you, Janey. I'm a bit surprised, though – you've never seemed all that interested in men or romance.”

 

“It's not about the man, George. I could care less about being a spinster for all my days if it was just about warming someone's bed, but I want a family. I want children and I don't want to be alone for the rest of my life. Even with all of you, you're going to have your spouses and your families, and even if I'm still close to you, it will be different. Anne used to tell the King that she wasn't getting any younger, but I'm the same age. If I'm not married soon I won't be, and... I seem to be the least of anyone's concerns.”

 

George sighed. “I think Father is keeping you back in hopes of binding someone closer to us through your marriage, though obviously he doesn't share his thoughts with me. But truthfully, Jane, if you don't want the marriage bed, should you really want to marry? Your husband... He'll have every power over you.”

 

“Yes, and most men of our class bed their wives for duty and find mistresses for their pleasure. That idea doesn't bother me as it does some women.”

 

She smiled at George's flummoxed expression, and sipped her wine – she was still on her first goblet, having decided it would be best to be careful from now on. At Edward and Ann's wedding, she had not disgraced herself, had simply sat quietly in her chair, but she hadn't liked the swimming feeling in her head, or the terrible headache the next day. So she sipped carefully at her first goblet even after George left her with another kiss to the cheek, and continued to watch the dancing.

 

“You should have danced, Jane, after a while it wasn't just us,” Mary said as she came to take George's vacated seat, eyes bright and cheeks flushed with laughter and the exertion. Hal was talking to Edward and Ann, but his eyes kept flicking to Mary, warm affection in his eyes. Sometimes, Jane thought with irritation, the world around her seemed only to drive home how alone she was. But she let herself be drawn into an easy conversation with Mary, about little Jamie and how he was growing. And, apparently, a very protective older brother for baby Annie.

 

They were laughing together about Jamie's antics when Anne joined them, tugging on a lock of Mary's hair as she sat down near them. “When we were here before, could either of you have ever imagined this?” she said, indicating the room and the banquet going on.

 

“No, especially as I wasn't here at the same time as you two,” Mary said. “And I'm not as clever as you, either.”

 

“I don't think even the cleverest person in the world would have seen this coming,” Jane said lightly, and Anne laughed, throwing back her head. She hadn't been this unrestrained, this relaxed and happy, in years. When she stopped laughing, she looked at them both, eyes bright.

 

“I want to tell you – and I can only the two of you – that the thing I have so longed for will accomplished _here_.”

 

It couldn't be the actual marriage, they'd have to be mad to do that. So... the consummation. Jane had never found out exactly what the King and Anne had done that day so soon after Wolsey's fall, sneaking out while everyone else was busy with the play 'Sending the Cardinal to Hell', but she'd always assumed it had fallen short of true lovemaking.

 

But as Anne hugged Mary first, and then her, Jane hoped Anne knew what she was doing. She might want her own life, but she still worried about her sister, regardless.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Edward's stepfather finished describing his brief encounter with Charles Brandon and George shook his head. “So, Brandon is definitely an enemy now. That's certainly not something we need at the moment.” Edward bit the tip of his tongue to stop himself from offering a scathing reply, something along the lines of stating the obvious. He didn't have to say anything, though – Norfolk beat him to it.

 

“Thank you for that insightful comment,” the Duke said mockingly. “Brandon is dangerous. He's a fool and a jumped-up nobody, but he's the King's best friend. He trusts Brandon above everyone, except perhaps Anne. But using her against Brandon is risky – it won't do for the King to believe that she resents their friendship. And,” he paused here to give his former brother-in-law a sharp look, “we certainly cannot afford another Fisher.”

 

Edward almost winced, because God knew that was true. After the cook had made such a botch of poisoning Fisher, far too much attention had been on their family. The man had died holding his tongue, but it had been a close call. Only the King's disinterest had really kept them safe; if Brandon became a target things would be very different.

 

“Surely there is something that can be done,” his stepfather mused. “There is a rumor that he supports Katherine; we must simply find proof of that.”

 

“I doubt it wil work,” Edward finally spoke up, before anyone else could. It earned him a baleful look from his stepfather.

 

“The King won't forgive supporting the Spaniard,” he insisted.

 

“He will,” Edward argued, “because it's Brandon. Good God, the man married a Tudor princess in secret, an act of treason. All he got was a temporary banishment.”

 

“That _we_ pulled him out of,” Norfolk pointed out.

 

“Rumor has it that the King forgave him after an arm-wrestling match,” George said carefully, and when they looked at him quizzically, he shrugged. “Manservants talk, and maids gossip. We helped him, but if that's all it really took in the end? I suspect the King would have come around eventually on his own, and if I know that, then Brandon, who knows him far better, certainly does.”

 

“The King is likely to forgive Brandon anything, save undeniable, malicious treason. They've been friends since King Henry was nothing more than the overlooked Duke of York, and he doesn't forget that,” Edward added. “We can't destroy him; we have to find another solution.”

 

Norfolk drained his wine goblet, placing it back on the table with a thunk. “He needs to be neutralized. When it was in his best interests, he was happy to work with us. We must bind him to us again.”

 

“Jane,” his stepfather said suddenly.

 

“What about Jane?” George asked, but Edward didn't need to. There was a moment, a moment brought on by what was left in him of a young boy who'd taught his small, towheaded sister to read, where he wanted to protest. Jane would hate this, she would be furious. Oh, he knew she wanted to be married – it wasn't hard to see that she became more subdued when such talk came up, and he'd seen how much wine she'd had at his wedding. But he knew that this marriage wasn't one she'd want.

 

He also knew that it might be the only option left to them. So the moment passed, and he said nothing.

 

“I have kept Jane unmarried for just this reason,” his stepfather was saying. “So that we could use her marriage for the good of the family. And Brandon, for whatever reason, never remarried after Princess Margaret's death.”

 

“I've heard that he doesn't want to remarry,” Edward found himself saying. “I'm not clear on why, exactly, but apparently he's been quite clear on that point. Jane's the one who told me in fact – apparently she heard something of it from their mutual friend, that Knivert.”

 

“If Anne speaks to the King, Brandon won't have a choice,” Norfolk said. “It could work. Is the chit spirited enough to influence him?”

 

“For Anne's sake, I'm sure she can manage.” Edward's stepfather sounded much more certain than Edward himself was. “She and Anne have been close as twins since I married Margery; she'd to whatever she has to for her. So, it's settled then.” He turned to Edward. “Edward, speak to her, give her time to prepare.”

 

He would do that, but he doubted anything would make Jane happy with this arrangement. Still, he knew that meant little and less to the two older men – and should to him, because this was a sensible plan – so what was the point of mentioning it?

 

~ ~ ~

 

Anne stood at the window of her – no, their bedchamber, for the first time a chamber belonged to her and to Henry – and looked out. Calais, and so technically England, but still, France. Anne was as French as she was English, and it was fitting that this last step of their relationship should happen here. She'd grown from a child to a woman here, after all. It felt, almost, like coming full circle again. She reached for her hairbrush and combed out her long hair, still standing there.

 

She could hear Henry moving around in the outer chamber, and she supposed he'd be there in a few minutes. Outside, a storm was brewing, and Anne smiled to herself. Storms... She'd always loved them, and she rather liked that one was brewing tonight. The crashing thunder, the lightning that lit the room in brief flashes... Well, what wasn't to like about it?

 

This was it. She knew it was a risk, giving herself to Henry fully before the marriage vows were spoken, but he wouldn't go back on his word now. He'd done too much, all the way up to bringing her to a foreign country and presenting her as his future Queen. And so, she felt it was time. Besides, if she conceived, then it would spur Henry on to finish things, to break with Rome and marry her in spite of what the Pope said. It was the one card she had left to play, to make all of their plans happen.

 

And... Well, she wanted to. She loved Henry, beyond all of the coldly practical reasons she wanted to give herself to him. They'd had their moments, most notably in the woods during the Wolsey play, but that had not been the same as this would be. Taking a deep breath, she turned from the window, studying her reflection in the mirror before dabbing just a bit of rose water to the pulse points at her neck and wrists, as well as between her breasts. She might not have _done_ anything in France, but she'd listened.

 

Henry was still in the other room, but she could hear him beginning to move closer. She slipped out of her nightclothes and climbed nude into the bed, pulling the blanket so that it covered part of her. When Henry stepped into the room, she sat up, meeting his eyes.

 

“Now, my love, let me concieve, and we will have a son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. Lots of stuff in this chapter, though it may not seem like it yet. I know Mark seems a bit unlike himself here, but he and Michael had a rather unpleasant end to their fling – hence the mutual bad attitude.


	22. Whatever Tomorrow Wants From Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't recall if I've mentioned it yet, but the King of Portugal is an OC, since his father certainly was – an expy of a caricature of Louis XII of France, yes, but still technically an OC. Fittingly, his name was Luis. But anyway, his son King Manuel will be important later in the story, and I wanted to give Anne of Cleves a better ending. At some point there will be a oneshot in this universe that focuses on them, though I've no idea when I'll get that done.

_**Chapter 22 – Whatever Tomorrow Wants From Me:**_  "I'm sorry, what did you just say?" Jane's voice was incredulous. "You must be joking. Father is going to marry me to Charles Brandon? He can't do that!"

Edward raised an eyebrow. "I suppose it's technically my responsibility and not his, but that's irrelevant. I don't see what the trouble is; Brandon's the best available match in England. You'll be a duchess." Of course, he wasn't being entirely truthful; he could guess at her objections, but didn't she see that there was no point?

"Married to a man who couldn't even be bothered to treat a royal wife with courtesy! Married to a man who hates our family. No, Edward, I can't see any reason why I should object!" Jane's voice was cutting, her eyes blazing. Inwardly, Edward was impressed; it was easy to forget that Jane had a temper.

"That's the point," he said. "Brandon's an enemy, and he needs to be turned into an ally again. We can't afford to have him against us. You're an intelligent woman, I'm sure you already worked that out for yourself."

"And how exactly am I to change his mind?"

"Feminine wiles?" Edward regretted the flippant comment as soon as he made it, even before his sister's hand connected with his cheek. He would have said something about that had he not been so stunned, but before he could regain his control, Jane stood abruptly, storming from the room. She almost ran down Ann in the doorway, but didn't even pause to apologize. Ann, for her part, moved to let her by, shaking her head as the door slammed shut. Then she turned to Edward, raising an eyebrow, her eyes lingering on what he suspected was a red mark on his cheek.

"I take it you told her."

Edward scowled, knowing from the look in her eyes that his wife was amused. "It isn't funny."

"Well, that depends on your perspective," Ann said, crossing the room and moving behind him. She slipped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. "I found it most amusing, especially seeing so-calm Jane in a temper."

"Why does that not surprise me?"

"You know me very well."

Edward sighed, drumming his fingers on his desk. "I just hope she comes around. If she's truly set against it, Anne won't talk to the King about it. And we need Jane to marry Brandon; it's the best chance we have of keeping him from being a truly dangerous enemy and not just an irritating one."

"So, once she calms down, make sure she sees that if she doesn't put it together herself. Jane's loyal to this family; put it like that and she'll understand."

Edward shook his head. "I certainly hope so. Unless she gets Anne to stop it, she isn't going to have a choice. Though I suppose her resentment might help too..." He trailed off, considering that new angle.

Ann moved back a bit, enough to give him a quizzical look. "Usually I know what you're planning, but I admit I'm a bit confused. If she's angry... Oh," she said after a moment, comprehension dawning. "She still isn't about to turn on Anne, and there's a chance that if she and Brandon are equally irritated, they might find common ground in that."

"Exactly," Edward said. "Of course, it still depends on one or both of the girls being practical and cool-headed, which they can't always be relied upon to be."

"They'll come round. And you worry far too much."

"With what we're playing for? Someone has to."

* * *

Of course, Edward went and made a botch of it. Men! This was the best thing for the family, but that wasn't the way to put it, that just made it seem awful. He should have said it would be a good match for Jane herself – she got to mother the Brandon children, just as she'd wanted to mother children, and she would be a duchess. Were Jane anyone else, Mary would also consider her fortunate to have such a skilled lover as Charles Brandon in her bed, but Jane had always been... odd, that way.

Admittedly, it did make sense for the family's needs. Even Anne thought so, and would speak to the King about convincing Brandon. She would have been the one going to talk to Jane, too, but she'd been feeling unwell that morning and didn't think leaving her bedchamber was the best idea. Mary had her suspicions about her sister's mild 'illness' but she kept them to herself. Now wasn't the time to speculate, really.

So, here she was, knocking on Jane's door. When she got no answer, she stepped inside, finding her sister lying across her bed in her gown and everything, only her hood tossed to the other side of the room and leaving her blonde hair loose. Jane looked up just a little, and smiled wanly at the sight of Mary. "If you're here to tell me that marrying Brandon is my duty, and what this family needs, I already know, Mary."

Mary sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a bit of hair out of Jane's eyes. "Then why are you here alone, without even a candle lit?" There was still enough light coming in from the windows to see by, but it was late afternoon so that wouldn't be the case for much longer. Jane closed her eyes.

"I'm just thinking," she said. "Reconciling myself to this. I wanted to get married, but... Not to a man who will hate me even before I have his ring on my finger. I'm not like Anne, or even you; I'm not the sort who can charm a man. I don't even want to, but now I'll have to."

Mary looked at her sympathetically. "Well, it won't be impossible. You're a pretty woman, Brandon loves women."

"And hates our entire family," Jane pointed out. And then her expression changed, turning thoughtful as she absently nibbled on her thumbnail. Mary watched in growing concern. The look in Jane's eyes was unsettlingly like Edward's when he was scheming – it was easy to forget that the two of them had things in common, sometimes. "That could be useful, though," she said. "If he resents me, and I convince him that I resent Father and possibly Edward for the marriage as well... It gives us common ground."

"Because you're both trapped in a marriage you don't want, and so it helps you both to cooperate? Would you even be pretending?"

"Not entirely," Jane said frankly. "Exaggerating, certainly. I may not like this marriage but even I didn't want to marry an old man nearly on his deathbed, or someone who would beat me. Brandon's negligent as a husband, but he doesn't really seem like the type to hit his wife, any more than he seems likely to force himself on a woman. Which is another relief for me."

"I'm not sure... Brandon is a lusty man, he might..." Mary said doubtfully. Jane shook her head as she sat up, pushing blonde hair out of her eyes.

"No, I don't think so – I think he's too proud, too convinced that his charm and his looks can get any woman to open her legs eventually, so forcing the issue wouldn't be to his taste. But in any case, I'm going to have to marry him. I may as well use the marriage as it's intended to be used."

"Do you think it will really work?"

"I hate to say it, but is there a better option?"

* * *

Brandon called his children and his ward together to tell them the news, clenching his jaw as they filed into his study. He didn't want to make this announcement – didn't want to do what he was announcing – but it wasn't as though he had a choice. "The King has declared that I have been unmarried long enough," he said, striving to keep his voice even. "And since I've been remiss in finding a new wife, he has chosen one for me. I am to marry Lady Jane Seymour – she is the sister of Lady Anne Boleyn, our King's betrothed."  _Our King's mistress_ , he thought, but didn't say. Ella and Ned glanced at each other and up at Sarah; they were still so young, and barely remembered Margaret. So Jane, for good or ill, would be the closest thing to a mother they would know. Margaret would have been furious.

And she wasn't the only one. Oh, it was there only for a moment, but he saw that moment of fury in Catherine Willoughby's eyes. Those rumors... Back when Margaret had died, there had been whispers that he would marry her; even Anthony had heard them, and asked him about it. But Charles had never meant to marry Catherine, and he'd told her so.

_"You're a lovely girl, Catherine, so I don't want you to think I'm rejecting you. In all honesty, I do not intend to marry again."_

_"I understand, Your Grace. I never thought anything of it."_

Charles had wondered then if she'd meant that – now he knew she hadn't, not entirely. Once that would have made him smug; now he just hoped it wasn't going to make this already-unpleasant situation worse. The truth was, he was very fond of Catherine, perhaps too fond. Had he wanted to remarry, he likely would have chosen her. But he didn't, and the choice was taken away from him.

He dismissed them, and leaned back in his chair. It did occur to him, briefly, to feel a moment's pity for Jane Seymour; she was likely just as unhappy about this as he was. Or perhaps not; perhaps she was happy to do anything she could for that sister of hers. How was he supposed to know? His future wife was a pale blonde shadow behind Anne Boleyn, the quiet one who never seemed all that interested in the men of the court.

Anthony would tell him more, if he asked. He remembered back before the Sweat, some had thought there was a romance between Anthony and Jane, himself included. But when he'd asked his friend about it, all he'd gotten was a laugh and a decisive answer that no, there was nothing but friendship there.

Not that he'd care if he had an unfaithful wife – in fact, that would be a boon to him, as an excuse to annul it and end this. Although... There were other ways to get an annulment, even if it had to wait.

* * *

"I am sorry. You do know that, don't you?" Jane had to keep herself from either snapping or rolling her eyes – Anne was saying that entirely too much these days.  _If you were truly sorry, you wouldn't have spoken to the King._  But that wasn't fair, since even Jane had accepted the necessity of marrying Brandon.

That had been a much easier thing to do in her bedchamber, with Mary trying to comfort her, than it was now, sitting in front of a mirror as her maid brushed out her long blonde hair. Her dress was a bright blue that made her eyes a slightly darker shade of blue than they usually were, and her jewelry matched – sapphires in silver. She liked how she looked, but at the same time... This made it all real.

 _I don't want to marry him_ , she thought grimly, and wondered what her mother had thought during her two marriages. She couldn't ask, because Margery was dying. Oh, no one would say so, but the coughing had gotten worse, and she was at Hever 'resting'.  _Why didn't I ask before? When I still could?_  She knew the answer. Because Mary had been half in love with Hal before they married, because Anne's situation had never been normal, and Jane hadn't stopped to consider that her marriage would be so very typical.

And, really, she didn't want to know that her mother had never loved Thomas Boleyn, had only married him to secure her children. She didn't want to know that her father by blood, so jolly with his children from what little she recalled, was not nearly so pleasant a husband. She knew some of it anyway, from things she'd heard over the years. She didn't need it confirmed, by her mother's words or the look in her eyes.

"Jane?" Anne sounded worried.

"What?"

"You  _are_  still angry."

"No," Jane said, turning to face her sister. "I'm just... not so cold as to cheerfully go to bed with an enemy. That's all."

"I'm-"

"Anne, don't. Honestly, I don't want to hear that again. It's all right. Brandon and I will learn to deal with each other, and I'll have his children to raise." Turning back to the mirror, even she could see that her eyes were a little brighter at that thought. She'd wanted a family; she would still have that even if the circumstances were less than ideal.

The wedding and the feast afterwards seemed to go by in a blur. Jane remembered only snatches of it – Brandon's quick kiss at the end of the ceremony, surprisingly cool for a man of his known appetites, being spun around by Tom in a dance as he tried to make her smile, the King laughing and offering his congratulations...

But the night was over all too soon, and she found herself alone in the Duke's chambers, standing at the window in her nightgown, waiting for him. The door opened and Brandon stepped in, stripped down to nightclothes as well. "Go to sleep," he told her gruffly.

"I'm sorry?"

"You don't want me, I don't like to force women, and I've no interest in seducing you tonight. I'm angry and half-drunk and just go to sleep, my lady wife, because tomorrow we have to be a married couple and I'm sure you are no happier about that than I am." He climbed into the bed and rolled away from her, seeming as though he were sleeping.

Jane narrowed her eyes, tapping her bare foot lightly on the floor. Now, this she hadn't expected. Why in the world would he...? Oh. A marriage could be set aside for non-consummation. Well. Jane couldn't say she was sorry to put the bedding off, but Brandon's motivation was singularly inconvenient.

But there was nothing she could do about it, so she went to bed. When she woke, she was alone, but, tellingly, there were no signs of servants having come in yet. There was also no sign of her new husband. It didn't take her long to find a small dagger in Brandon's chambers, and she clenched her jaw to keep silent as she cut her foot. It was a small cut, but enough to leave a smear of blood on the sheets.

She might not have wanted this, but it had happened, her family needed this, and Charles Brandon was not going to trick his way out of it. Perhaps she had learned more from her more ruthless siblings than even she had realized.

* * *

It was only a week after Charles married Anne's sister Jane that Henry stood next to Anne in a chilly room deep within the bowels of the palace. As it happened, they were waiting for Charles, who was to be the last of the witnesses for his and Anne's wedding. "Where is he?" Henry snapped. "Where's Suffolk?" He looked over at Anne's sister Jane, Charles' new wife, but she only looked back apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, I don't know where..." Just then, Charles came in, and Henry smacked him in the stomach for his lateness before turning his attention back to the priest. This, a quiet wedding in the bowels of the palace, was far from what he'd wanted for his and Anne's marriage. He had dreamed of a brilliant spectacle in Westminster Abbey, one that would put the long-ago marriage of Arthur and Katherine to shame – his own false marriage to Katherine had begun with a quiet ceremony, because of his father's recent death.

But with Katherine having turned out so recalcitrant, and the Pope in thrall to the Emperor – even if Henry could understand the Pope's position in some ways; if he found for the truth, for Henry, another sack of Rome might be the least he could expect – this was their only option. Subterfuge, and then a quick annulment of his 'marriage' to Katherine by Cranmer now that the Church of England was independent of Rome. They would announce that first, and then his new marriage to Anne during Holy Week; she would make her first public appearance as Queen for the Midnight Mass.

Henry pushed those thoughts aside to speak his vows, looking into Anne's eyes as he said the words. He might be unhappy with the surroundings, but he could never be unhappy with what he was doing – with what they were doing. And when he slipped his ring on her finger, when Anne said the words back to him and gave him her ring...

Anne's new motto was 'The Most Happy', but at this moment, drawing Anne in for their first kiss as man and wife, Henry thought that could easily be his motto.

* * *

"My Lord Beauchamp, may we speak?" Edward turned at the sound of the accented voice to see the Portuguese ambassador. Cristovao Almeida was about Edward's age, remarkably young to be the primary ambassador in a foreign court, but he was the King of Portugal's cousin on his mother's side. That likely had a great deal to do with it, as did the fact that Almeida was good at it. He was a canny sort, not unlike his Imperial counterpart, but unlike Chapuys, he wasn't a known enemy of their family. But none of that explained what he wanted.

"Of course, Excellency," Edward said briskly. "What can I do for you?"

"I simply wished for you to pass on my cousin and King's congratulations to your sister, who I understand will soon be crowned."

"I will do so gladly," Edward said politely, but he waited for Almeida to continue. There wasn't the slightest chance that the ambassador only wanted to say that. Luckily, he didn't need to wait for long.

"It is a pity that so soon after the successful visit to Calais, the French King should prove so unfaithful to his promises," Almeida began. "I am sure His Majesty – and your sister – must be grieved by Francis'... duplicity."

"On the contrary, we English know to expect such behavior from the French. It's hardly the first time they've done it. Now, if you'll forgive my rudeness, what does King Manuel care about this?" Normally, Edward might have played mind games for longer, but he wanted to get to the heart of this matter.

"He cares because he feels that King Henry deserves better treatment. After all, our two countries have an ancient alliance," Almeida said silkily.

Ah. So that was his game. Edward was actually a bit surprised; the Anglo-Portuguese alliance had been nearly defunct for some time now. Admittedly, there were rumors that the Portuguese king was trying to break off the Imperial ties that his predecessors had left him with. He was recently married to Anna of Cleves, whose ruling duke of a brother was allied with the Protestant League – though if Edward remembered correctly, the people of Cleves were still Catholic. This was... interesting.

"Our alliance has faded to almost nothing," Edward pointed out, noting the ambassador's faint smile.

"Sadly true, my lord. My king would like to change that. Your support would be quite valuable... and worth rewarding you for."

"Oh?"

"A yearly pension of one hundred crowns. And, of course, my master's firm and unwavering support of your sister's marriage to the King."

"That is certainly a generous offer, Excellency, and I will give it due consideration." Edward couldn't accept or refuse outright and they both knew it, so Almeida left him with a courteous nod. Edward continued on his way, calm face hiding his turbulent thoughts.

So, King Manuel wanted to renew the Anglo-Portuguese alliance. He obviously didn't care about offending the Pope or the Emperor – as far as the latter was concerned, he might even consider insulting the Emperor to be a good thing. It was a new twist in the diplomatic situation, especially welcome as it was likely that the Pope would soon be using the threat of excommunication. It would be interesting, if nothing else, to see how it would play out.

For the moment Edward intended to do nothing; caution was called for at a time like this. If the ambassador was seeking active support, then it was likely that King Manuel was planning to make a move that would require that. So until that happened, Edward would wait and see what developed.

* * *

Anne almost couldn't believe she was about to be crowned. She had entered the city by barge three days before, sailing to the Tower of London. There had been a water pageant, and the people of London had crowded the banks of the Thames to watch. They had been enthralled by the magnificence, if not thrilled by what it was for. Anne had hoped there would be loud cheering as she arrived, but there hadn't been, just as there hadn't been yesterday, during the procession from the Tower to Westminster Hall.

At least it was not outright hostility, and there were some cries of encouragement as Anne rode by. Mostly she thought they looked curious, which was much better than the outright hostility that she had feared and experienced on occasion – she still remembered that sometimes, when she and Henry had ridden out, the people who saw them had shouted against her, telling Henry to return to Katherine. But he had not, he had stood firm, and here they were at last. When she had made her first appearance as Queen at the Easter Mass, there had been mutterings and whispers – she had seen a few people leave and she'd heard that some who remained refused to say 'Amen' when she was prayed for as Queen. It had bothered her, but now...

Now she would take the blatant, curious stares if that was the closest she could get to being welcomed, after that. London had always adored Katherine, but she'd been told that they loved the tales of her forefather as well, the Boleyn who'd made their name and had begun as a Londoner, just like the men, women, and children around them. So Anne smiled at the people even when they didn't smile back, trying to look kind and like the descendant of one of their local heroes. She wasn't entirely sure how well it worked, but she thought that as she approached Westminster, the crowd warmed to her just a little bit.

Maybe it was wishful thinking – Edward would likely say it was, just in case it actually was so that she didn't get her hopes up, though George would say of course they were warming to her and Tom would just shrug and tell her not to worry because the King's love is all she needs – but Anne didn't think so. She glanced behind her as she got down from the litter to enter Westminster, and there was a hint of hope in Jane's eyes, in Mary's, Cat's, and Ann's as they came in behind her, so that seemed to suggest that she wasn't imagining it.

The coronation itself felt more like a dream than anything else, after all the time she'd spent trying to imagine what this moment would be like. The heady scent of the holy oil was strong as Cranmer pronounced the benediction, though the discomfort of prostrating herself before the altar had added a bit of solid reality to the moment before she'd returned to St. Edward's Chair. Now she sat there, gripping the rod and scepter like her anchors, watching Cranmer as he prepared to place St. Edward's Crown on her head.

"Wait." Henry, seated on a throne to the side, held out a hand, beckoning for the crown. Cranmer handed it to him with a bit of uncertainty in his dark eyes, and Anne didn't blame the archbishop for that when Henry turned to her and placed the crown on her head. There was a possessiveness in Henry's eyes that she'd never seen before, almost a darkness, almost a threat, and for a moment she wanted to be nervous, as she hadn't allowed herself to be during any of the festivities.

That was when she felt it; a kick, as though her baby was trying to say "I'm here, it will all come right because I'm here." Strange, in that moment to be so soothed by a child not yet born, but Anne felt a calming warmth steal over her, one that kept her head high and her face calm as Henry stepped back to let the congregation see her with the crown resting on her brow.


	23. Deal the Cards

_**Chapter 23 - Deal the Cards:**_  He had failed. Brereton sank to his knees, gripping his rosary and whispering prayers, pleas for forgiveness. He had now failed to kill the harlot twice. First in France, when he had hoped it could be blamed on the French, and now, today at the coronation, when he had been so close only to misjudge the distance...

And she was so close to bearing her bastard, the child whose life Brereton had already decided must be sacrificed, innocent or no, in order to destroy the Witch. But perhaps that child was why he'd had to fail, perhaps God had willed it. Maybe the child was a girl, or better, horribly deformed. If the latter, the King would surely see the error of his ways and return to his wife. If the former, he might persist, but then Brereton could strike again without having to murder an innocent to do so.

It was the only comfort he could take in his failure, that at least there was no innocent blood on his hands. It must mean that the child was not the son the King so desperately hoped for, because if so surely God would not allow it to be born. He must have a plan for the child, there must be a reason... Perhaps the Witch would be revealed by her child, and would suffer the flames as she ought, rather than the mercy of a musket ball? Or God had simply decided that a servant of his should not be forced to murder a baby even for the greater good. Perhaps it was a kindness from the Lord...

Brereton didn't know, but he did know that he ought not to question the will of God. So he forced himself to stand, to take a deep breath and stop tormenting himself for his failure. God had known he would fail, had willed it for reasons that Brereton could not see and did not need to see. He would merely have to wait and see where he was guided next to do His will.

* * *

Catherine Willoughby stood with the rest of the household as the Duke and his new Duchess approached, a pleasant, empty smile fixed on her face. Inside, though, she was seething. Oh, she had believed the Duke meant it when he told her he intended to never marry again, but she had been planning to win him around. Once she was a little older, and he could truly see her as a woman worthy of him, rather than as a girl in his care not much older than his bastard daughter.

But then that woman had to intervene. Catherine told herself she would have accepted it, wouldn't let herself give in to resentment and anger, but the damage to her personal prospects was only the beginning of the harm Anne Boleyn had wrought. Catherine was certain that the only reason His Grace had taken Jane Seymour, a pallid woman of no great family if all she heard was true, as his wife was because of who her stepsister was. The King's whore, now falsely labeled as his Queen. When Catherine thought of her mother's letters, of what Mistress Darrell told Maria about Queen Katherine's horrible conditions...

And so, Catherine felt completely justified in hating the new duchess, for all she represented as much as for what she'd done to Catherine's own future.

Sarah, for her part, didn't really care about why her father had remarried. She felt bad for the new duchess, knowing how reluctant her father was to remarry. She hoped he didn't take it out on his wife, who had no more choice in the matter than he did. But, remembering the disaster of her father's marriage to Princess Margaret, she doubted that.

And then there was Catherine, who might think she was hiding her fury well, but she really wasn't. Sarah had always known that the other girl – who had never been all that friendly to her, Sarah's bastard birth a barrier between them – wanted to marry her father, for the title and because he was handsome and in the prime of life. She wondered if Catherine intended to cause trouble for Lady Jane. If she did, she was a fool; Lady Jane was their new Queen's sister, after all.

Sarah knew her father didn't like the Queen, that he quietly sympathized with Katherine of Aragon. Bastards could pass unnoticed; she saw things, heard things. And she remembered her first stepmother's fury about the grasping Boleyns; she remembered Margaret and her father talking about a visit from Thomas Boleyn. She wasn't a fool, and she saw how her father's attitudes changed following Margaret's death. So much of his newer behavior was based on what he'd learnt, losing her. Much of it was good, but his feelings toward the Boleyns were... awkward considering that they were now the Queen's family.

Sarah just hoped that the marriage to Lady Jane didn't make things worse, somehow.

* * *

They could not stay at Westhorpe Hall for long, and so soon Jane and Brandon were on their way back to court. Most of the trip was uneventful, but a sudden, late summer storm had them seeking shelter at Lambeth, where the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk had quite a few young men and women living there. Jane knew, since the old woman was Anne, Mary, and George's stepgrandmother, that many of them were various Howard relations much like the Boleyns themselves – that was, either Howards on the distaff side or from cadet branches of the house.

Brandon seemed... reluctant to stop there with her, casting her odd glances until Jane simply couldn't take it. "What is it that has you looking at me so oddly, my lord?"

"Lambeth's dormitories... do not have the best of reputations," Brandon said, a bit uncomfortably. Jane supposed the discomfort was merely because he was having to tell this to her, his wife who was known at the court as not even having the slightest interest in flirting, much less anything more. "Some of the girls are little better than whores."

Jane pursed her lips. "I see. Well, if you wish to enjoy their... charms, my lord, that is your right."

Brandon shook his head. "It isn't that, madam. I'm not certain it is an appropriate place to take my wife."

"Well, she is my sister's stepgrandmother."

"Your stepsister's. It's not a particularly close association." Jane just looked at him, pale blue eyes like ice. She imagined she looked more than a little like Edward at the moment, judging from the startled expression on her husband's face. There was silence for the rest of the ride, and soon enough they were at Lambeth, their horses led away by stableboys as they were conducted to see the Dowager.

Jane couldn't say she was all that impressed. The old woman seemed... coarse, somehow, in a way that didn't fit such a high-ranking noblewoman. But then, she supposed that by and large it was not her business, so she shouldn't really trouble her head about it. She made pleasant enough conversation over wine, and then over dinner, without speaking to her husband any more than absolutely necessary. He behaved similarly, speaking to the young men of the household about their athletic pursuits.

Jane, for her part, was caught by the curious, bold gaze of a young girl with blonde, curly hair and lively grey-green eyes. "Who is that girl?" she asked the Dowager, curious.

"Oh, her? That's Kathryn Howard – Edmund's youngest girl. About as much use as her father, that one," the old woman said with a roll of her eyes. Jane winced inwardly; she didn't really know Edmund Howard, though she was aware he was largely useless, a careless spendthrift of a man. Anne had gotten him some position in Calais, but he'd lose it soon unless he shaped up, or so Edward said. The girl, though... There was something about her, a hint of fire in her eyes and a defiant tilt to her head that made Jane think of Anne. That made her think, if little Kathryn got half a chance, she might have something of a chance.

She made sure she had the chance to speak to the girl. "Kathryn, yes?" The girl's jaw dropped slightly in surprise before she recovered herself and curtsied. Jane tried not to fidget – she was not yet comfortable with the deference she was given as a duchess. Or as the Queen's sister, for that matter. Still, she hid it well, offering Kathryn a hand up.

"No need for that – we are family through marriage, after all. I thought I might take a turn around the gardens, and it would be pleasant to have the company of someone who lives here."

"Oh, of course, my lady – I mean, Your Grace," Kathryn said quickly, and Jane had to hide a smile at the girl's flustered excitement. They left the hall by a side door, coming out into one of the knot gardens. For the first circle around, they were both silent, Kathryn practically vibrating with excitement and Jane thoughtful, wondering where to begin. She was helped along by the sight of someone through the bushes – or rather, two someones. That was certainly not the sort of thing...

She glanced back at Kathryn, whose cheeks were pink, her expression torn between discomfort and fascination. But no surprise; it was as though the sight of two people practically engaged in intercourse was something she was used to. But then, Brandon had called this place little more than a brothel – though surely, the Dowager kept the highborn girls of her household away from it?

"Is this common, Kathryn?" she asked, her intended questions about whether the girl liked it at Lambeth forgotten. Kathryn bit her lip, ducking her head before peeping up at Jane through her lashes.

"My lady, I should not like to tell tales..."

Jane waved a hand. "Whatever you say, I will not share. I simply want to know, Kathryn."

At that, the girl's resolve broke. "All the time. We're not supposed to let the men into our chambers at night, the Dowager has a key, but... It is easy enough to steal, and then they are allowed in. The young gentlemen. Not for me, not yet, I am still too young for... well, they think me too young, in any case. But the other girls... And sometimes it is visiting men, not the ones who live here. I once saw..." She glanced back, worriedly, toward the door, and then looked back at Jane guiltily. It took her a moment to guess why, and then, well, Jane had to stifle a wry laugh.

"I assure you, Kathryn, I won't be upset if you tell me you saw my husband with one of your fellow ladies. But what do you mean, they do not think you old enough? Is there someone who does?" That was a more serious thing.

"I... There is... My music master, Henry Manox. There are things he wants of me, things that... I think some part of me should like to agree to, but other times I am not sure, and so I haven't yet." It reminded Jane of France, of Anne. Anne had not gone far, had not dared, but she remembered the whispered conversations in the night when her sister admitted that she would like to. Only good sense stopped her, and even good sense had not kept her from being a little reckless. Aside from that, though, what was the Dowager playing at? She was supposed to be running a household meant to turn out young noblewomen who could marry to best advantage, supposed to be giving them every attraction possible since many of them were of the poorer branches of the Howard line or their retainers, and yet this was what happened? A household lax enough for lecherous behavior in a garden and an eleven-year-old maiden being propositioned outright by a music master?

Jane may have spent her formative years in France, might be beyond blushing and feeling awkward at the sight of such things because she had walked in on too much of it, but this was ridiculous. The people at court were generally old enough to be there, old enough to either learn responsibility or to suffer the consequences of being foolish. Or, they were members of the royal children's households and were not so exposed to the worst of it. That was not the same of all of those who were here at Lambeth.

She didn't like this at all, nor did she like that a girl who she thought might have some promise – she seemed sweet-natured, if nothing else – would be left here. There wasn't much that she could do, but she could, possibly... She would have to think on it.

* * *

The house at Austin Friars was always full. This was one of the first things that Michael had learned since coming into Cromwell's service. It was, though, with traveling merchants and children and servants and all manner of people really. One highborn bastard added to the crush on a regular basis went all but unnoticed. And he liked it, really; liked trading sardonic comments with Rafe Sadler and the Cromwell boys – Richard was Cromwell's nephew, Gregory his son – liked talking to the foreigners about places he would never see. And... More than anything, he liked seeing Cromwell here, because he was more properly himself, or so it seemed to Michael. A man of dry wit and sharp intelligence, who was direct and forthright away from court games. He couldn't help but value being allowed to see Cromwell that way.

That was something Michael would never admit to, for a variety of reasons. However, he had a sinking feeling he didn't need to admit it out loud, not to everyone. Or, rather, not to one specific person. Cromwell often had guests for meals, and tonight he was hosting, of all people, Michael's sister and his brother-in-law. Not that Michael minded the chance to spend time away from court with Ann and Edward, but from the way Ann was looking at him...

He ignored it for the moment, and turned back to the discussion he was having with Rafe and his wife, Helen, about tensions in the City between Portuguese and Imperial traders. Apparently, the new King of Portugal's policies were carrying over to his subjects, in ways that were leading to brawls and other bits of drama in the streets of London.

His mind wasn't really on it, though, and he couldn't help but look over to where Cromwell and Edward were talking about the latest trouble for the King – the excommunication from the Pope. It had been the thing on everyone's lips at court, but Edward and Cromwell were discussing it in serious terms, not gossipy ones. Michael was too far away to participate in the conversation, though he could follow it by reading their lips. And he was following it, even if he sometimes... forgot to shift his gaze to Edward and so missed things he said.

Damn Mark Smeaton for being right, anyway. He still knew Michael all too well, that was painfully clear. He had managed to suppress the fact that he was increasingly drawn to Cromwell, even after Mark had thrown it in his face, but something about seeing his former lover circle the Queen's brother oh so carefully made his own situation impossible to ignore. Not that it would ever come to anything, and he knew that. Even if the other man showed any inclinations like Michael's, and he didn't seem to, he was also still in love with the memory of his late wife.

It was a hopeless situation, but Michael had been in those before. A man who preferred the company of other men got used to them. Mark had been the only man who had honestly returned Michael's affections. Oh, there had been the occasional time or two with others, but that had been primarily about the physical. Which was fine, by and large, but it did illustrate rather well how pointless his ridiculous infatuation was.

Ann cornering him a few days later did not help.

"You can't," was the first thing she said, after closing the door to his bedchamber and looking at him in concern. " _Cromwell_ , Michael? If he notices – "

"He won't," Michael snapped, irritated. "You're the only one who can read me quite that well, thank you."

"You had best hope so, though I suppose that it isn't something most people would consider. Still, be careful. I don't want to see my brother executed for sodomy."

"You've always taken it... practically. I'm grateful, but..."

"It's no different than all the other sins. Between you and God, and not my affair. You think I'm going to turn Catholic, calling for burning at the stake?"

"Now who needs to be careful?" Michael said with a frown, surprised that she'd stated it so bluntly. "I know we're not Catholic anymore in England, but saying things like that still isn't the safest thing even behind closed doors."

"Well, that's both of us risking trouble and hellfire, isn't it?"

And really, what else was there to say?

* * *

"I'll take care of everything," Lady Suffolk had said, and Kathryn tried to believe her. But, well, she was only a girl, and Hampton Court was... It was all she'd dreamed but it was so large, much bigger than Lambeth which had seemed enormous when Kathryn had first come there. And all of the Queen's ladies were older than she was and the Queen herself was looking at Kathryn with nothing but confusion as Lady Suffolk drew her aside. Kathryn's fingers curled into her skirts, fisting around the cloth before she remembered that could rumple the damask.

She couldn't hear what Lady Suffolk and the Queen were saying, and soon she was distracted by one of the other ladies. She had hair almost as dark as the Queen's and cool, sharp grey eyes. "So you are Jane's new project, hmm? I am Lady Beauchamp."

Kathryn dropped into a polite curtsey. This lady, she knew, was wife to Lady Jane and Queen Anne's brother Edward. "I am Kathryn Howard, my lady," she said, made nervous by the woman's cool manner but determined not to be cowed. "Her Grace of Suffolk has been very kind to me."

"So it seems," came a new voice, light and amused, and Kathryn turned to see the Queen. Though she had just risen, she dropped into another, deeper curtsey.

"Your Majesty."

"Rise, Mistress Howard," Queen Anne said, before walking to her chair and patting the stool next to it. "Come, sit by me. I want to know what it is my sister likes so much about you." In spite of herself, Kathryn found she was looking to Lady Jane for reassurance; her encouraging smile eased Kathryn's nerves a little as she sat down.

"You are another niece to the Duke of Norfolk, yes? My uncle Edmund's... second youngest child?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Kathryn said, meeting the Queen's eyes and trying not to stare at the curve of her stomach. Her grandmother spoke often of the Queen, their girl who would give the King the Prince he so longed for. "I've lived at Lambeth for three years now. My father... he does not want the responsibility of us."

There was kindness in the Queen's eyes. "And now my sister has brought you to court. Do you want to be one of my ladies?" There was something mischievous in the question, like Kathryn herself when she tried to talk Joan Bulmer into some new prank on Francis Dereham and the other boys. It made Kathryn feel able to answer instead of being stunned into silence.

"I want nothing more, Your Majesty. If it pleases you," she added quickly.

Queen Anne laughed. "It's settled then. Jane will help you become familiar with what is expected of my ladies, hmm?"

* * *

"Girl, just go!" Ann snapped, and Kathryn Howard fled. Damn Jane for thinking a child belonged among Anne's women. Oh, it was fine, usually, but just a week and a half after Anne went into confinement, the child was coming. And Kathryn was not useful in the bedchamber; she had best get those extra maids quickly.

Anne clung to Jane and Mary's hands; it was left to Cat and Ann to order things. For Ann, she couldn't help but wince a bit at Anne's shrieks. She'd told no one as yet, not even Edward, but soon enough she would be the one screaming in a bed. No point in dwelling on it now, though, she decided, turning her focus instead to keeping the ducks known as ladies-in-waiting calm while Cat organized the maids arriving with fresh water and linens.

And she prayed. Silently, privately. If the child wasn't a healthy son... it could be the beginning of the end for all of them. None of them had any way of knowing how long the King's affection would last if Anne didn't give him what he wanted.

Katherine had been Henry's adored Queen once too. And Anne had no royal relatives to protect her.

Three hours later, when the midwife slapped the newborn's behind and announced that Her Majesty had given birth to a healthy girl, Ann tried to believe that any healthy birth after years of Katherine's miscarriages would be better than nothing to the King, but... What if she was wrong?

* * *

Cristovao poured himself a glass of claret, fingers tapping on a blank sheet of vellum. So Queen Anne had borne a daughter. Cris knew England was divided tonight; for each person who had hoped for a Prince of Wales, there was at least one other who rejoiced in hopes that it was a sign that the King would return to the Spanish woman and her daughter.

Chapuys wasn't even bothering to hide his triumphant smirk.

Cris, on the other hand, was rather pleased himself. But not because the new Princess Elizabeth's gender was a blow to her mother's cause. Far from it. No, his happiness came from knowing how this might be useful to his cousin's plans.

He and Manuel had been reared together, they were best friends. And no one else but Cris knew the full extent of Manuel's plans. An alliance between the 'lesser' powers of Europe. Scandinavia, maybe Scotland, Russia if their nobles stopped their infighting long enough to be of use. The Cleves marriage had been the first step to bringing the Protestant League into it.

And England. Cris' approaching Edward Seymour had been the first step. That Anne Boleyn had given birth to a daughter left things shaky for her, and yet...

Perhaps Cris and his cousin-king could help. After all, Queen Anna had just given Manuel a son and heir, Prince Miguel. Prince Miguel would need a bride one day, and how better to start wooing Henry of England into Manuel's great alliance than by offering a marriage?


	24. For All of the Plans We've Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conspiracies, temptations, and Christmas feasting.

There were days when Manuel, King of Portugal and the Algarves, almost wished his father had succeeded in getting a son on his Spanish second wife. Luis had hoped for a fully-royal son who would, somehow, supplant the son born to him by his hated first wife. Manuel’s mother had been of the lower nobility, and hers was a line that contained Moorish blood. A low marriage for a prince, designed to keep Luis from stealing his sickly elder brother’s throne. His father’s plans, like Luis’ own, had failed in the end. It was, perhaps, a family trait.

****

Manuel fervently hoped not, but at least his plans were of a different sort, not anything that would hurt a child of his. His only child, his son Miguel, was the light of his life.

****

But he was letting himself be distracted. It was late, and he was tired, but he did not wish to sleep yet; this was the first peaceful moment he’d had for the entire day, here in his study with only a silent guard by the door. The Imperial ambassador and the Papal ambassador had both remonstrated with him on behalf of their masters, a usual thing in these days but no less tedious. The Emperor persisted in thinking that Manuel’s sisters were his to command, simply because Juana of Castile and Maria of Aragon were sisters, and because he had married Manuel’s sister Isabella. Manuel had never been close with his father’s daughters by Maria, but they were his responsibility, and the Emperor needed to stop trying to use them as his political pawns. He had sisters of his own, nieces and nephews as well for whom he was truly the head of their family.

****

But then, the Spanish had a tendency to try and make a cat’s-paw of Portugal, whenever they saw a chance to do so. Manuel’s father had not tried to stop it; Manuel was determined to do so. He had set the first pieces in motion when he married Anna of Cleves, who brought with her links to Germany and the Protestant League. And, of course, the beginning of his troubles with the Papacy. Manuel was careful not to legitimize Protestantism, but the laws he had set in place declared that as long as there was no public preaching, no denunciation of the Catholic Church, there would be no punishment for being a Protestant. He was reasonably certain that his Cortes had been too stunned to object, which was why it had so easily become law. Refusing to move against the Moors or the Jews had caused him some trouble with the Pope as well, though more with Charles V.

****

Manuel had grown up among the people, with his mother’s family in the country, far from court. As he saw it, the people he would banish or kill if he was stricter on the matter of religion might be of use. The Turks, the Moors, they banished no one, simply took extra taxes from those who did not follow Islam, and they had been terrifyingly effective for a long time. Perhaps there were reasons for that - and a tax, later, on non-Catholics, would help his coffers if he chose to emulate that as well.

****

And, of course, there was now the latest issue. Manuel could not help the smirk as he picked up the diplomatic announcement declaring the birth of a child to Henry VIII of England and his new Queen, Anne Boleyn. Or his mistress, depending on who one spoke to. Manuel, for his part, thought that kings had been granted annulments for less before, and that Katherine of Aragon’s continued recognition - outside England - as Henry’s Queen had more to do with being Charles’ aunt than any rightness of her cause. Was she right? Was Henry? Manuel didn’t know and in all honesty he didn’t care. To him, the English breach was an opportunity, and had been since Henry had begun seeking his annulment.

****

The Anglo-Portuguese alliance still existed, but it was all but forgotten. Manuel had sent his most trusted ambassador, his cousin Cristovao, to England to change that. He and Cris had been raised together, had come up with Manuel’s plans together. England was one of the keys to that plan.

****

It had all seemed so simple, talking it out as boys, as youths, in Uncle Sebastian’s library or in the gardens surrounding their home. The ‘lesser’ nations of Europe were at the mercy of the Holy Roman Empire or France, and now the Empire was Spain as well. But what if they joined? What if it was impossible to attack one, without the others coming to their defense?

****

“Husband?”

****

Manuel’s thoughts were interrupted by Anna at his door. One of her ladies trailed behind her, but she dismissed the woman with a wave of her hand. Manuel hid a smile; his queen had come a long way in a short time from the shy Cleves girl he had married, endearing with her accented, faltering Portuguese. Not that his German, learned to make speaking to her easier, was that much better, at least regarding the accent.

****

“Anna. Is there a problem?”

****

“No, no, I... I have not seen much of you since before I was confined, except among the court. I thought... But you are busy, I will...”

****

“Anna.” Manuel held out a hand to her. “No, come here. I would like to show you something.” She took his hand and he drew her close, turning both of them to face his map with his pins. “You remember my cousin Cristovao, yes? He met you at our border before he left for England?”

****

“Yes. He was very kind to me.”

****

“That’s Cris for you.” Manuel tapped one of the pins - it marked Cleves, Anna’s home - then another that marked Saxony, where Anna’s sister Sybilla was married to the Elector John Frederick. The man who led the Protestant League. “You know, of course, that our marriage was for the purpose of an alliance with your family and that of your brother-in-law.”

****

“Royal marriages always are for such things, my lord,” Anna said, her Portuguese much better now, if still a bit too careful.

****

“Yes, yes - unless of course you’re English,” he pointed out, laughing a little. “I know you’re aware of that scandal; not a court in Europe isn’t. But what most people don’t know yet is how pleased I am about it all.”

****

“Well, you have not cut ties as the Pope would wish - in fact you are increasing them,” Anna said, slipping back into her native German as she spoke. “I have noticed it, and also how the Papal and Imperial ambassadors are increasingly unhappy. And you snub the Imperial ambassador, as much as you can. Not the Papal one, though?”

****

“No, not the Papal one. I don’t have a particular grudge against His Holiness - I know you are a non-Papal Catholic, my dear, but I do still follow Rome in my faith.”

****

“But you are allowing others to worship as they wish.” Manuel gave her a surprised look - he had not really thought she paid attention. Anna smiled, a hint of mischief there. “They think because my words are slow, that so are my ears. I understand your tongue much better than I speak it, and people are too free with their words because they don’t know this.”

****

Manuel couldn’t help it; he laughed, and kissed her full on the mouth. “Clever girl,” he murmured. “Keep that up, will you? And, of course, tell me the things that you hear. But, yes, I do. Fighting over religion is impractical; better that all my people share a love of country that keeps them loyal than a religion that might not. Besides, I have other things to concern myself with. As I was saying. Everyone marries for alliance in our world, except the King of England. He marries for love - oh, and a son. But, in marrying for love, he loses his alliances.”

****

“And so you mean to offer him a new one? With you, and my family through you?”

****

“That’s only the beginning. My ambassadors in Scotland and Navarre, the Scandinavian lands, even a few of the Italian states, they have similar orders to Cristovao. Broach ideas for a grand alliance. It’s not complete yet; once they are interested all parties will plan the terms together. It’s the only way it might hold.”

****

“But what of France, the Empire, the Pope? They are the great powers, surely-”

****

“That, my dear Anna, is the point. They think to command us, and it is time we show them we are not to be commanded. England has held the balance between France and the Empire for years; and we here are small but strong, even discounting our foreign holdings. If I can get England, you see, then I will have something to draw in the rest with.”

****

He’d never told anyone the scope of his plans before. No one but the cousin who had made them with him. It felt freeing to do so with the wife and Queen who was the first piece in the game, but also a woman he was coming to love for the son she gave him and for her own self, the efforts she made to be the Queen he needed.

****

\---

****

“He said what?” Jane said, staring at her sister. She had not been present when the King had appeared in Anne’s rooms, chiding her for trying to nurse Elizabeth herself and then announcing that the baby was to go to Hatfield with her own household. A household, moreover, that would include her half-sister as a maid-in-waiting. Jane could not believe it. It was wrong. Legitimate or no, Mary Tudor was a girl of royal blood, more royal blood than her father if one were honest. She was a girl caught between her immovable mother and her ruthless father. What was she supposed to do but side with the mother who championed her rights?

****

If all were fair, Mary would be at court, acknowledged as the child of good faith that she was rather than bastardized. The King's undeniably illegitimate son was a Duke welcomed at court; his daughter ought to be as well. Jane could see the practical reasons for demoting Mary's rank, especially now that Anne had borne a daughter. But her sense of fairness made her think that, if Mary must be a bastard, she ought to be treated the same as her half-brother.

****

"He said Mary was to serve Elizabeth. I thought it odd too when Henry said it, Father and George both think it will prove that Elizabeth is the heir. But never mind about that. I think Henry is losing interest in me."

****

Jane didn't want to never mind that, but she was willing to set it aside for now in the face of Anne's distress. "Anne, surely he isn't. He loves you. It's just that he is a man, and for all they say women are lustful men are the ones who don't like to wait."

****

"He waited sixyears for me!" Anne snapped, fury in her voice but tears in her eyes. "And now I am to sit quietly as he takes a mistress after such a comparatively short time? I cannot, I will not."

****

Jane opened her mouth to say something - she was unsure what, but she never got the chance. Ann beat her to it. "You should," she said, entirely reasonably.

****

"What?!" Anne whirled on her. Ann shrugged.

****

"You are better off if a new fancy welcomes him to her bed," she explained. "It means she is no true rival. What you need to watch for is a woman who plays your game. He won't leave you for her, but such a woman will wield far more influence than a bedwarmer."

****

It was coldly practical, just like Ann - and Edward too, it was why they made such a good match - but that didn't help. Anne glared viciously.

****

"Get out! I don't want you saying that to me, get out and go to the country until you've had the babe you think no one knows you carry." When Ann didn't immediately move, Anne shrieked, "Go!"

****

Ann left, looking affronted. Jane crossed to her sister, urging Anne to sit down. "Anne, shh, calm down." Jane perched on the arm of the chair, staying close.

****

"I can't lose him, Jane. What if I lose him?" Anne whispered, leaning her head against Jane's waist. Jane ran a hand through her sister's hair, like they used to do for one another after nightmares.

****

"You won't, Anne. He'll come back to you; he fought so long for your marriage, how could he not?"

****

Anne laughed, the sound bitter. "Because before I was the pretty thing he could not hold, but now I am his, to be dropped and picked up again as he desires?"

****

It was, Jane suspected, a rather accurate summary of the King's attitude. But she didn't want to say so and hurt Anne even more. Nor did she have the heart to lie. "It will be all right, Anne. It will."

****

The problem was, Jane wasn't sure even those words weren't lies.

****

\---

****

Weeks had passed, Christmas only days away (not that it mattered for her, here) yet Mary still could not get Anne Boleyn’s words out of her head.

****

_“Lady Mary, I am here in kindness. I will bring you back to court, and reconcile you with your father, if you will only accept me as Queen.”_

****

In some ways, it was good that Mary had tasks as a member of Elizabeth’s household. They kept her hands and her feet busy so that she couldn’t rage aloud, couldn’t pace the floor or throw things in her anger. She’d never thought, when she came here, that acting as an attendant would have any good to it, but it turned out that it gave her something to anchor herself, so that she did not lose her mind to the fury, to the sorrow.

****

The worst of it, the very worst, was that even as Mary had lifted her chin and replied coldly that her mother was the only Queen, but that she would be grateful for the intercession of her father’s mistress, part of her had wanted to say yes. The sheer coldness in her tone had not just been what Anne Boleyn deserved, but it was the only way Mary knew to disguise the part of her that longed to submit.

****

Because what girl raised a princess would want to remain in such a reduced state? Mary knew, if she gave in, her father and Anne would be generous. Of course they would be. She would have submitted, would have been someone to point to as proof that they were right after all. They would make her part of their family so no one could accuse them of cruelty toward her. As it was, she was sure that anyone who asked was told she was here to learn her place, as a lesson. It would be painted as necessary, not cruel.

****

Mary knew all this, and part of her wanted it. She could not have her mother, and would not until her father relented. That he would, eventually, was a thing she needed to believe if she was going to remain sane, but the fact of the matter was, it could take a good while. So she could not see her mother,  but all it would take was a few submissive words, perhaps her signature somewhere, and she could see her father. But she couldn’t betray her mother, she couldn’t risk her soul for that.

****

Every single day, every night when she lay in her small bed, it preyed on her mind. It was what she was thinking about when she was folding linens and heard a baby’s wail. She expected the cries to stop soon, when one of the others went to soothe Elizabeth, but the crying just continued. So Mary went to look, and saw that Elizabeth had been left alone.

****

Mary knew she shouldn’t care. After all, Elizabeth was the daughter of Anne Boleyn, the woman who had stolen her father from his true wife, turned him against his marriage, against Mary herself, and worst of all against the True Faith. The woman whose words haunted Mary like a ghost. Elizabeth had usurped Mary’s rightful place. And yet… Was that Elizabeth’s fault, was that her doing? She was a baby, she didn’t even know she was hailed as Princess wrongly.

****

And she was Mary’s sister.

****

So, Mary slipped into Elizabeth’s bedchamber and picked her up, rocking gently as she sang to her. Slowly, the little baby quieted, and looked up at Mary with big blue eyes. With… With the eyes from Elizabeth of York’s painting, that Mary’s father had shown her with his arm around her shoulders. That he’d shown her because… Because… Because Mary had the same eyes.

****

She ought to be married now, maybe cradling her own child. She ought to have a husband, or if she was not yet married, her parents. She had none of that. But she had her sister, maybe if they let her she could… Could…

****

“What are you doing with the Princess Elizabeth?”

****

Mary turned to see Lady Bryan. She shouldn’t fear the woman - she even remembered being very small and under Lady Bryan’s care, before Lady Salisbury took over. But you’d never know that, from the coldness in Lady Bryan’s eyes and voice. And Mary found she did fear her, against her will, if only a little. “She was alone. I took care of her,” she said quietly.

****

“Give her to me.” Mary handed Elizabeth over, feeling a curious mix of vindication and sorrow when Elizabeth, who had gone quiet, immediately started to wail again when it was no longer Mary holding her. And, though she wouldn’t admit it, she was unable to suppress the tiniest smirk when she left and Lady Bryan seemed unable to get Elizabeth to quiet with the ease Mary had.

****

The smirk, however, dropped away at the sound of a slap and a scolding to a maid. They - did Lady Bryan, or anyone else, think Mary would hurt Elizabeth? Her father couldn’t think that, and even the harlot had to know Mary wouldn’t - Elizabeth was her blood, she would never…

****

When she was restored to proper place, she would see Elizabeth was well treated as her sister, if an illegitimate one. Then everyone would know she would never hurt her own blood, but for now she would have to swallow the insult as she swallowed all the others.

****

_“I will bring you back to court…”_

****

No. She had to be strong. For her mother and for herself. It couldn’t matter that she wanted her father, that she and Elizabeth had the same eyes. It didn’t matter.

****

\---

****

This was what she'd dreamed of, Kathryn thought, as she joined the Christmas revels. This was how she'd imagined court to be. She had a new dress of blue-green silk, a gift from Her Majesty, and the young men of the court all wanted to dance with her.

****

She loved it. Their smiles were much more agreeable than Henry Manox's leers and hard, grasping fingers. And she loved to dance more than anything in the world. There was nothing wrong with it, for all that Uncle Norfolk shot her disapproving glares when she laughed or spun too gaily. The Queen seemed to like dancing as much as she, and Lady Jane didn't seem to think Kathryn behaved badly either. As long as they didn't object, why should Uncle Norfolk?

****

Kathryn moved into place for the next dance, and was unable to hide her shock when she found herself partnered with the Duke of Richmond, the King's son. "Your Grace!" she said as he twirled her.

****

"Mistress. You are one of my stepmother's ladies?"

****

"Yes. I am her cousin, Kathryn Howard." She said it with pride; she might be the least of her family, but she was still part of a great family and had nothing to be ashamed of.

****

"And I am the son of the King," Richmond said as they went into the final turns of the dance. "That makes us nearly kin; we ought to be friends, considering that," he told her with a winning smile.

****

"I should like to be friends, Your Grace," Kathryn said, and she thought that she might mean it.

****

"Then you may call me Hal, Mistress Kathryn."

****

Kathryn laughed as they partnered again for another dance, this one a volta. "Lord Hal, at least, or I should be in such trouble for not showing you respect."

****

Lord Hal sighed, hands on her waist as he lifted her in the air. "Very well, if you must. But we are friends, yes?"

****

"Yes, Lord Hal, we are." She liked the way he smiled at her; like the King except he was young like her, and golden-haired. She found she was smiling back, cheeks flushed. He seemed so pleasant.

****

\---

****

Chapuys didn’t storm away from Brereton, but he was tempted to. Was the man mad? Now was not the time to strike against the harlot. The King was still enamoured of her, even if Chapuys’ sources said that he was no longer faithful. He had, after all, remained fond of the Queen long after desire faded, with no mistress changing that affection. It would take time for the passion he felt for Anne Boleyn to fade, and with this Oath that would soon be circulated, with the Act of Succession being drawn up to invest the succession in the harlot’s children…

****

Any move against Anne would be seen as something the Emperor commanded, as he’d told Brereton. Or, worse, the direct act of the Queen or Princess Mary, as though they needed anything to make their situations worse.

****

Still, it galled to have to watch her with the King in their mockery of marriage. He would have dearly loved to tell Brereton to try again, hopefully to succeed this time, just to never see that spectacle again. Common sense had to prevail, though. The timing was wrong, but if they were patient an opportunity would present itself. He just hoped Brereton would listen; the man was growing ever more fanatical, and Chapuys knew that those who felt that strongly could easily become erratic.

****

He would have a different ally if he could, but there was no choice. Brereton was what he had.

****

Trying to watch anything other than the King and his concubine, his eyes fell on the Portuguese ambassador Cristovao Almeida, speaking with Alexander Fraser, the Scottish ambassador. What were they plotting? It was one of his missions from his master, to try and figure out exactly what King Manuel of Portugal was doing. Manuel had forgotten the alliance his father had made, had forgotten his sister was the Emperor's wife.

****

He ought to be a loyal brother-in-law, but instead he drew back from the Spanish alliance, marrying a woman who brought ties to the Schmalkaldic League. Chapuys knew there was talk of reviving the Anglo-Portuguese Alliance, despite the dishonor done by the English king to his sisters' aunt.

****

He stepped up beside Almeida as Fraser walked away. “The Empress asked me to pass on holiday greetings to her brother,” he said, though no such thing had happened and would have been through the Imperial ambassador in Lisbon if it had. The point had been made, as Almeida’s thin smile proved.

****

“How odd, since the Empress Isabella all but ignored her brother, my cousin, whenever she could. Can I help you, Chapuys?”

****

“I merely wished to remind you where your master’s obligations should lie.”

****

“Really? Where’s that?” Almeida said carelessly, then walked away to talk to Cromwell’s assistant, Lady Beauchamp’s bastard brother.

 ****  
Damn the man, and damn his king. What were they up to?  



	25. The Value Of My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cromwell has a job for Michael, and Anne's family pulls together - and she needs them now more than ever, as things get darker in England.

It was strange to be back after so long away, but the Kniverts, now Viscount and Lady Rivers by the King’s decree, settled back into court life easily enough. They missed their girls, but that was to be expected, after all. “The Queen extended an invitation to me,” Kate told her husband, and Anthony glanced up from the document he was reading.

“Oh? And what does she want of you?” There was something there, some edge to his voice that Kate couldn’t decipher, but she pressed on.

“She wants our girls,” she explained. “Ellie is of an age with the little Princess, Joanna not even two years older, and she wishes to make them part of Princess Elizabeth’s household. Not yet, not for another year at least, she said, but she’s already made offers to her sister Lady Mary for her and Northumberland’s youngest girl, and to her stepbrother Lord Beauchamp for his and Ann Stanhope’s child should it be a girl. Jane said the Queen wanted little Lady Eleanor too, even though she’s older, because she’s the princess’ cousin, but your friend Suffolk wants to keep his daughter at home if he can.”

Anthony set aside the paper he was reading and stood, crossing to the window. He wasn’t looking at Kate when he said, “Perhaps we should follow Charles’ example.”

“What?” Kate frowned. “Anthony, what’s happened?” She went to pick up the paper he has set down, skimming it - and then she understood.

“Dear God. It’s to be a matter of treason now?” She dropped onto the window seat, the paper slipping from her suddenly numb hands. “So Fisher… He’s been locked up, but now…” She shook her head. “What of More? He’s been quiet, and the King still loves him, I should think, but he’s such a devout Catholic, if he’s forced to the Oath he won’t sign it, will he?”

Anthony shrugged. “I don’t know. Mayhaps - he loves his family, wouldn’t come to court full time because he preferred his home. Not that I blame him, in hindsight. But he once said to me that he did not think, if his head should bring the King something he wanted, that the King would hesitate to cut it off. He was only joking at the time and yet… I can’t help but wonder.”

Kate shook her head. “I begin to think not only should we keep our girls from the royal household, but perhaps we should leave court and return to the country.”

“That’s just it, we can’t. If we do, it’ll insult Henry. But we do need to be careful, because I don’t think things are going to calm down anytime soon.”

She approved of the new religion. It appealed to her sensibilities, the idea of personal, private faith. A priest to aid and guide was all well and good, but how could the true connection between a man or woman to God not be deeply, intensely personal? Her husband, she knew, was not all that devout, and he was more concerned with the upheaval caused by the changes. Thinking about this, about Fisher in the Tower and More like to join him…

The King’s good friend.

As Wolsey had been the King’s mentor, a father figure in many ways.

Dear God. Perhaps Anthony was right to be more concerned about the effects. But there was little they could do, except try to keep themselves safe. Though Kate didn’t really know just how they were going to do that. She, for one, was going to serve the Queen loyally as her husband served the King, and give no one reason to suspect them.

It was all she could think of to do thus far.

\---

His stepfather did not approve of Edward leaving court, but he’d be damned if he would let Ann be alone when she was so close to her time. It hurt his reputation as a cold fish, the reputation he and his wife shared of being a calculating pair of schemers rather than marrying for any sort of personal affection, but he really didn’t give a damn. Ann herself might tell him off for it later, he knew - she liked the misunderstanding the rest of the court had of them - but he could deal with that.

He wasn’t going to be at court when - if -

Complications in childbirth were too well known.

Ann had retired to Wolf Hall as the time for her to be confined drew near; Edward had another manor now in the King’s gift, one that had come with his ennoblement as Viscount Beauchamp, but they’d both thought the next Seymour should be born in the family home. And so he rode into the yard that was still full of so many memories for him, both of his father before the fever took him and of the time he’d spent here as master after leaving university.

He arrived later than he’d meant to, and so he chose not to disturb Ann that evening. Instead he retired to the study that still felt like his father’s, seating himself behind the desk and realizing that there was a part of him that actually liked being here. It was quiet, and there was something about being able to slump back, his worries for his wife and the overall concerns surrounding the family’s place at court obvious. Here no one would carry tales - or at least, it was unlikely. Edward knew there were spies everywhere, but Wolf Hall was so rarely occupied by anyone but servants that it was unlikely anyone had bothered.

He had enough to occupy his mind, after all. Anne and her new pregnancy, Tom. Mostly Tom, because there was nothing that could actually be done about the child in Anne’s belly. It would live or not, it would be a son or a daughter, there was nothing anyone could do about that. Anne could be careful and eat things thought to make a boy, and pray. They could all pray. But that was all.

Tom, on the other hand…

Tom was a problem. He had always been a problem. Edward knew his younger brother felt slighted, and perhaps he had been, in a way. Oh, not by the King - Tom had done nothing to earn anything more than what he’d been given, and he was not close enough to Anne to get it any other way. George and Edward himself were active in the King’s service; Tom had the charm but no real head for the game of court.

Still, if he wasn’t given something soon to occupy himself, he’d become real trouble, rather than just Edward’s frustrating younger brother. Ann and Jane said he had an interest in Jane Parker, Lord Morley’s daughter and heiress. Perhaps marriage would settle Tom, and Edward rather thought Lord Morley would agree to a marriage. Cousin to the King or no, he wouldn’t turn down an alliance with Anne’s family. He’d offered his daughter for George but the dowry demanded had been too much and the negotiations with the Greys all but complete in any case.

He might like a more accessible offer.

And perhaps, if Edward spoke to Anne, she might speak to her uncle, Norfolk. They could find Tom some military post - from what little Edward had spoken with his brother on such matters, there Tom did seem to have some skill. As a boy, it’d been the only part of history lessons where he’d excelled. It was worth the trying if -

Noise carried in Wolf Hall. The screams were faint but he could hear them, and Edward was out of the study and racing to Ann’s chamber door before he knew what he was doing. He did not enter - he knew he’d only be in the way, might hurt the level of care his wife got if he was in the way, and part of him feared to see his flippant, cool-headed wife in that state, to know he had been…

He did not enter, but he stayed outside, as the night and Ann’s screams wore on. There would be pauses, brief silences that made him even more worried because there was no cry of an infant. Then she would cry out again. The sun was full up and getting in his eyes from the east-facing window when silence fell again, broken this time by a baby’s indignant wail. That was when he entered, not waiting to be told.

Ann, slumped on the pillows, opened one eye halfway, scowling faintly. “You’re supposed to wait,” she said, tone arch even as she was clearly exhausted.

“You have a fine daughter, my lord,” the midwife said as she cleaned the baby up.

“Margery,” Edward said absently. They’d agreed on the name already, and he didn’t need to think about it. Couldn’t, through the wave of relief. He understood the King’s need for a son, but… How could the disappointment not be washed away in relief for a healthy wife and child when it was so very strong?

\---

“My time has been taken up dealing with the Oath - Fisher and More, the Carthusians… The point is, I’m going to be busy for some time yet. So I’m going to need your help, Michael. The Portuguese… Almeida’s up to something, and I need you to find out what it is,” Cromwell said, barely glancing up from his papers.

“He told Edward something vague about revitalizing the Anglo-Portuguese Alliance,” Michael pointed out. “I thought I -”

“Mentioned that? Yes, you did, but there’s… There’s more to it than that. You saw him and Fraser at Christmas?” Cromwell cut in, looking up properly this time.

Michael nodded. “I did, yes. And I know he’s been closeted up with the envoys from Saxony and Cleves. But…” He paused, eyeing Cromwell thoughtfully. “You know something.”

That earned him a tiny smile - a rare, valued thing. “Know? Not entirely. Suspect, yes. Almeida talks to your brother-in-law, the Queen’s stepbrother, of alliance. He befriends the Scottish ambassador and snubs both Chapuys and du Bellay. Meanwhile, his king marries a bride of Cleves, and my sources speak of Portuguese envoys arriving in Denmark, Sweden, Navarre… Something is happening, Michael. Not the Reformation, not this. It’s something else, and I can’t put my finger on what. But King Manuel is angling for something, and he sends us his cousin as ambassador. A man he was raised with as a brother. His closest, most trusted man, it’s said.”

“They need us,” Michael guessed. “Whatever the game, England is central.”

“Exactly.”

Michael nodded. “The King of Portugal has marriageable sisters, and a young son,” he said thoughtfully. “The Scots King needs a wife, and a betrothal would give our little Princess Elizabeth more legitimacy in the eyes of Europe. Manuel has things to offer. The question, of course, is what does he want in return?"

Cromwell shrugged. “That I don’t know, not for certain. Which is why I need you, Michael.”

“I know you don’t know,” Michael said, voice a bit sharper than he’d meant it to be. “But you suspect - what? You said you suspected something.” Even as he said the words, he had a feeling he knew what it was. Clearly, alliances, but a network of them…

“Some sort of league, would be my guess,” Cromwell said, eyebrow raised at the edge in Michael’s tone. “Not the in name only alliances of Europe that Wolsey attempted to craft - the Perpetual Peace, the Eternal Peace. No, this is… If I’m right it’s something else, something new. Manuel is young, idealistic, and deeply ambitious. Those who followed the late Princess Margaret to Portugal noted that he barely bothered with a pretense of grief at the death of his father. He’ll have something dramatic in mind. With our King, with King Francis and Emperor Charles, it was war, once they came to the throne. Manuel, though, he seems to want something else. I am certain it’s meant to be some glorious enterprise, and what else fits the evidence?”

 

If Cromwell was right, and if it could be done, Michael thought, King Manuel might get his wish. But first, they had to know if it really was the plan. And for that, he needed to get close to Cristovao Almeida.

 

It took weeks of observation and casual conversations before Michael worked out just how to do that. It took one to know one, a man whose gaze discreetly followed not the ladies of the court, but other men. There was a certain humor to it all, Michael reflected. Considering who wanted him to do this. Considering why he would do just about anything Cromwell asked.

 

But then, life was full of such little ironies, wasn’t it?

\---

Harry Fitzroy had been kept far from the court as his father continued on his quest to marry Anne Boleyn, living fairly quietly at Sheriff Hutton. He had not even attended court for Christmas, choosing instead to go and see his mother. It seemed wise not to appear, to remind people that there was a son of the King alive and well. His father had not summoned him either, perhaps for that very reason.

 

However, he wanted to see his sisters, and so he had written his royal sire to ask permission to visit Hatfield. Officially, he was only going to see Elizabeth, of course, but Mary lived there too. He barely knew her - she’d been away from the court every time he’d been brought there - and of course Elizabeth was a baby, but…

 

He was curious. And lonely, in a way. Though he had his companions at Sheriff Hutton, he was both more and less than they were. More, in his official rank and royal blood, less in that his bastard status meant he had no real family. But maybe… Maybe if he tried, that could change. His half-siblings through his mother were little, and tended to take their attitude toward him from their father. Elizabeth, of course, was even younger than they were, but Mary…

 

At Hatfield, of course, he was obliged to pay his respects to little Elizabeth first. The baby stared at him with curious blue eyes, wisps of red hair escaping her cap. She’s a sweet child, he thought, not that he had enough experience with small children to really know one way or another. She didn’t cry, at any rate.

 

When he asked to see the Lady Mary, the governess, Lady Bryan, eyed him suspiciously. But Harry gave her his brightest smile, the one everyone said made him look like his father. That seemed to decide her; she sent a maid for Lady Mary, who was in her chamber, as she was not part of the current rotation of ladies waiting on Princess Elizabeth. She waited on her in the morning and early afternoon, and it was now late afternoon.

Lady Mary curtsied only a little to him - the proper degree for a princess to a duke, he thought, but he didn’t quibble. Instead he offered her his arm. “Sister?”

She stiffened, eyes narrowing, but eventually took his arm, letting him lead her outside. As soon as they were out of earshot, she said in a low voice, “You ought to address me properly; you are a bastard, duke or no, and I am the rightful Princess of Wales.”

Harry said nothing until he’d led her to a bench in the knot garden and sat beside her. “Well, that’s as may be, madam,” he said, using the neutral title his friend Will Parr had advised he use. Whatever Mary was, she had royal blood in her from both sides of the blanket, which commanded respect even from Harry, a King’s son and technically the ranking peer in the land. Or so Will had said, and Will usually had the right of it about such things. “But our father has declared it treason to call you that, and I for one would like to remain outside the Tower, if it’s all the same to you. So I shall call you madam or sister, because those are nice, neutral titles that we can’t fight over, don’t you think?”

Mary’s eyes - lighter blue than Harry’s own, but a near-match to Elizabeth’s - flashed. “I think that I have no idea why you wish to speak to me - brother.” She held herself so stiffly, like she expected some kind of attack. That made sense, actually - she must have felt under attack since the day their father had bastardized her. Still, he gave her the same smile he’d given the stern governess.

“I thought someone could tell you things aren’t all bad. Being a royal bastard isn’t such a hardsh-”

“I am not a bastard! My mother, Katherine of Aragon, is the rightful Queen, and however much he may want to, my father can’t change that! The Pope declared -”

“No one’s listening, not among those who make the decisions,” Harry told her, trying to be friendly. “I don’t pretend to understand all of this. I’m even younger than you, and I’d rather be outside riding or swordfighting or anything else but being in the schoolroom. So I don’t know who is right and who is wrong. I just know that our father, the King, is the one who has the power here. He made me a duke, when he could have left me to a stepfather who hates the very sight of me. He decided to put your mother aside - whether Elizabeth’s mother seduced him to it or not, he chose it. He chose to send you here.”

“He didn’t! He would never - she ordered me here, I know it!” Mary snapped, but she did not get up. She seemed almost curious to see how far he would go.

“Perhaps she did. Perhaps she asked that I not come to court this Christmas, as I did in recent years, because I would draw attention to her recent failure to bear a son,” Harry said with a shrug. “But she’s not our mother, only our stepmother. Our father is the only one who truly decides how to dispose of us.”

Mary stared at him, rigid still but expression puzzled now as well as angry. “Why are you telling me this? Are you saying I should do what they all want, deny my rights, deny my mother?”

Harry tried to imagine having to deny his own beloved mother. He didn’t think he could do that. “I’m saying… You and I are family, and both of us are bastards by English law.” He saw she was about to object, so he continued quickly. “Whatever the great truths of it all, whether the Pope is right or Archbishop Cranmer is, here in England we are both bastards by law. It makes us both more and less than those around us - it’s a strange state to live in. For you, it also seems a punishment. I thought… I might meet you properly, so that we are not so alone in that.”

He didn’t know if it was good or bad that Mary didn’t seem to know how to reply to that.

\---

Ann had been disappointed that she'd borne a daughter, even if baby Margery looked to be a pretty thing, with her dark hair and Edward's pale eyes. But just now, she was grateful. She'd left Anne only briefly, but came back just in time to catch the King leaving, expression stormy as he cornered Dr. Linacre.

"How could this happen? Was there any sign? Did you miss something?"

"Her Majesty appeared perfectly healthy, Your Majesty."

The King shot a dark look at Anne's closed door, and seeing the sudden fear in Edward's eyes, Ann spoke up. (Wiltshire, George, and Tom were likely frightened too, but Edward mattered.)

"It may have been too soon."

Wiltshire gave her a vicious look, but the King's gaze was merely suspicious. "What are you talking about, Lady Beauchamp?"

"I have heard that myself, Your Majesty," Linacre spoke up. "It is impossible to know in advance, or to even be sure at all. But some women, though they are quite fertile, need time between birth and the next conception. All women do better with a little time - one benefit of the length of confinement. Others' wombs need a longer rest, though after it are as likely to bear healthy children as any woman. I would recommend giving the Queen time before resuming marital relations."

The King's face twisted, a remarkable mix of frustrated anger and careful thought. Then he turned on his heel and walked out. Linacre went to check on Anne, and Wiltshire rounded on Ann.

"What, if anything, were you thinking? Now he will keep away from her even longer! Edward, keep your wife silent!"

"There are men in the Tower like to die because they believe the King wrong," Ann fired back before Edward could speak. "If he takes this as a sign -"

"He can't set Anne aside, not without taking back Katherine," Edward cut in. "But if he begins to think this union is also accursed, he may never touch Anne again. Better he thinks she was too fertile for her own good, conceiving too quickly for her body to handle." He frowned at Ann. “But that was still risky. How did you even know?”

“The midwife said that killed my mother,” Ann replied, trying to sound offhand about it. She didn’t really remember her mother but she remembered the old woman’s rough voice explaining the whys of her death to her father. It had been chilling, especially since she'd already had a vague idea that marriage and childbed were her concerns as well.

"It's done, and with any luck the gamble works," George said, before turning on his heel and going to comfort Anne. She'd called for George and Jane both, and Jane was already inside. As for the rest of them, they were silent.

The stakes had just gone up again for them all. What was there to say?

\---

The return to court was not something either Mary or Hal had wanted to do, but in the wake of Anne's miscarriage her father had summoned them, and Mary had convinced Hal to go along with it. They had been at work for Anne in the north, doing what they could to turn support of Katherine and the old order into neutrality if not support for Anne. But Hal was furious about Cromwell's inspectors and the damage they wrought on the Church in the north. Mary had used that to help argue for a return, because if they were at court, Hal could fight it. Not directly, of course, but perhaps there were ways to balance things. If nothing else, at court he could see who else agreed with him.

 

So back to court they both came, however reluctantly. They arrived in the middle of Thomas More’s trial for treason, London somber and unsure. It wasn’t that More himself was necessarily deeply loved - he was thought to be a supporter of Katherine’s, though, which did win over Londoners to his cause - but no one really knew what to make of it. No one in city or court had really thought More would die, knowing how the King had once loved him.

 

At the palace, the King lashed out and brooded by turns, and Jane said that her husband Brandon believed Anne was to blame for this. “I don’t know if he thinks she’s encouraging the King to proceed or if he just means in general, but…”

 

“Well, haven’t you tried to talk him out of it? I doubt he has any reason to complain of you, surely you must have some influence by now,” Mary said, shaking her head. Jane shrugged, pacing the floor of the chamber Mary and Hal had been granted. Hal was off talking to someone, Mary didn’t know who.

 

“He appreciates it, especially my bringing his bastard daughter to court as one of my ladies, but it doesn’t make him listen to me, whatever his feelings. It’s no hardship, honestly. Sarah is a pleasant girl, eager to please, and I much prefer her company or little Kathryn Howard’s to that of Catherine Willoughby.”

 

“Catherine Willoughby? Oh, that’s right, she’s your husband’s ward, correct? A wealthy young heiress?”

 

“Yes, but more than that she’s the daughter of Maria de Salinas. Remember? Katherine’s favorite lady, who came with her from Spain? Even with that, Anne’s offered to take her off my hands, because I think she may hate me even more than she hates Anne. I mean, we could put her with Ann - meaning Edward’s Ann - but that might be considered an insult, and also I expect they’d kill each other. I’m actually surprised Tom hasn’t hinted he ought to marry her yet.”

 

“A wealthy heiress would solve much of his grievances,” Mary agreed, remembering their first night in London, when Tom had joined them for the evening meal at her and Hal’s London house. “He’s quite bitter over his lack of advancement, you know - specifically as compared with Edward. He’s angry that Ned was ennobled while he is only a knight banneret. Angry too that Ned is married to an heiress, I imagine.”

 

“Angrier still that Ned managed to be in love with his wife,” Jane chuckled. “He is, you know. The two of them are very much in love, but pretend you don’t notice, they don’t seem to want anyone to realize their marriage isn’t just business. Anyway, about Catherine. I can’t be sure but I think she may have had designs on marrying Brandon herself. So we think that it might be best if she was removed to become one of Anne’s ladies-in-waiting.”

 

Mary nodded. “I’m sure you’ll do what’s best. But I have to ask, is Brandon right? I mean, Anne’s not incapable of poisoning the King’s mind. She did it with Wolsey. Could she have been involved?” It wasn’t something Mary wanted to think of her baby sister, but she knew it was a possibility.

 

“No, at least I doubt it,” Jane said. “They’ve barely spoken since she miscarried, and Ann’s little suggestion - she told the King that our Anne might have gotten pregnant again too soon after Elizabeth’s birth - may have been useful in terms of absolving her from some of the blame for the miscarriage, but the side effect is that he’s staying away from Anne’s bed longer to ensure that she’ll be ready when she’s next with child.”

 

“Well, that’s good in the long term if the plan works - even if the King loves Anne less, a son will wipe most of the troubles away, but I can see why it might be bad right now.”

 

“That, sister dear, is an understatement. Anne’s… Well, she’s increasingly on edge. Thinks he’s got a harem somewhere at one of his hunting lodges. Ann tried to tell her it was actually better if he had mistresses rather than a woman who held him off as she did once, but she sent her away. So I’ve yet to dare to point out that Anne is better off if he actually has a harem, since that means no one woman will be able to influence him.”

 

Mary winced, thinking about her sister’s likely reaction to such practical observations. Anne had never really been practical when it came to this sort of thing - she still remembered how Anne had railed at the King when he offered her the role of _maitresse en titre_. In hindsight that may have been wise, unless things got much worse than they currently were, of course, but the way she’d refused the title had been foolish and risky.

 

“So, essentially, things are not quite in shambles, but no one is happy. Except, apparently, Edward and his wife. Who would have thought it?”

 

“Why do you think you were wanted back?” Jane said with a sigh, and Mary had to laugh.

 

There was no point in doing anything else.

 


	26. Still Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Anne's miscarriage and More's execution, things appear to be quiet, if not peaceful. But appearances are deceiving, and the course of events once again begins to diverge from the story we all know so well.

Henry needed a distraction. He needed to think about something other than More. About something other than his memories and the nightmares that haunted him now, something other than thoughts of the silver crucifix they'd brought to him after...

  
  


And so he agreed to meet privately with the Portuguese ambassador at last, as he knew Cromwell had hoped he would since he'd told Henry of the man's request. Henry had always meant to, when he found the time. Cristovao Almeida was a cousin to his king, if Henry recalled correctly, on the non-royal side. "A curious thing, that my royal cousin should send one of his own family here. Few courts are so honored," Henry began, studying the younger man carefully. Almeida's smile put him in mind of a cat.

  
  


"Indeed, Your Majesty, but you see, your court is not just any court. Our two countries have been in alliance since 1294, though it was of course the Treaty of Windsor and the Battle of Aljubarrota that sealed it,” Almeida began. “And you and my royal cousin are kin as well, distantly, through your shared ancestor John of Gaunt. But with all the upheavals of disputed successions across Europe, our alliance slipped. King Manuel seeks to strengthen it once more.”

  
  


Henry knew all this, of course. And he knew that Almeida was aware of it; he spoke of their countries' history only as a way to give dramatic flair to his words. Henry was amused by it, and curious about Manuel's intent. The King of Portugal had left Europe shaken since he took the throne, Henry knew, although at the time his main focus had already been shifting to his annulment. Manuel's father had been the king his sister had wed so briefly, and the ambassador at the time had dismissed the then-crown prince, stating that any boy Margaret had _would_ rule Portugal, his father would make sure of that. The prince, the ambassador had said, was of lesser stock through his mother, and could be passed over easily.

  
  


Some might now say that of Elizabeth, or the son he would soon have with Anne, God willing, Henry reflected uncomfortably. If he was to prevent that, he needed more control over his kingdom. He needed his defiant bastard daughter to learn obedience. And he needed allies beyond the fickle French.

  
  


Manuel of Portugal was defiant of all authority not his own or God's, it was said. As Henry was, as a true king ought to be. Though he could not approve of what Cromwell had told him about the man's measures with regards to heretics, Jews, and infidels, it showed that he was slave to neither the Pope nor the Emperor. And though Cromwell tried to hide it, Henry knew his chief minister would be thrilled if they came into closer contact with the Schmalkaldic League.

  
  


They were heretics, of course, but they defied the Emperor. Which was why Manuel had married a woman linked to them. Anna of Cleves, Henry remembered. They said the Cleves girls were no great beauties, but perhaps the woman had her charms as well as political usefulness.

  
  


“I am intrigued, Master Almeida,” he said, after waiting just long enough to see the ambassador begin to grow nervous. “Tell me, what does your king propose?”

  
  


Almeida cleared his throat. “King Manuel suggests a re-ratification of our old agreements, to be signed both here and in Lisbon. He proposes that we agree to defend one another against the dangers of the Emperor – and his proximity to the Emperor's lands mean he may be able to warn you effectively far in advance of an attack on England. To seal this, and so all the world will know we are sincere, he offers a marriage between your daughter the Princess Elizabeth, and his son, the Infante Miguel.”

  
  


This was exactly what he needed. Given Francis' wavering, Henry needed a Catholic king to confirm he saw Henry's marriage to Anne as valid. His nephew the King of Scotland had some use in that he did so, but Scotland was too weak to be of help. But the young king who was causing a stir in Europe... Now, _that_ would make them take notice. Still, Cromwell had also told him...

  
  


“And is your king offering such terms in Navarre, or Scotland, in Italy or the Nordic states?” he asked sharply. “Do not play me for a fool, Almeida. I know I am not the only ally Manuel courts.”

  
  


“No wise king seeks only one ally, Your Majesty,” Almeida said smoothly. “But none are so respected as you – not even his wife's kin, though of course they are directly after you in his regard. There is simply... But, oh, it is a folly, a thing we talked of as boys, not something to interest a king.”

  
  


It was an obvious ploy, but nevertheless it worked. Henry still sought distraction, after all, and he sensed that this 'folly' was the heart of why Manuel had sent his own cousin, the friend of his boyhood, to England. “I am interested in many things. What is this... folly?”

  
  


Almeida met his eyes and held them, daring for a man with no royal blood, and barely noble. “A great alliance, Your Majesty, with us at the center. England and Portugal, as the strongest nations of it. For too long have we all been at the mercy of the whims of France or the Empire. But if they knew that to attack one of us was to attack all of us... It would change the world, Your Majesty.”

  
  


Once, Wolsey had promised such a treaty. But with France at its heart, it could never have worked. This, though... Despite recent weakenings, the alliance between England and Portugal was old and durable. If it worked, it would show Charles, Francis, and the Pope that they could not just use rulers like pawns.

  
  


“Why just sign things in London and Lisbon?” Henry said recklessly, warming more to his sudden idea with every word. “Let the King of Portugal and his queen come here for a great meeting. Perhaps even some of these others, should they prove interested. England is remote, I know, but that makes it safer – we won't be interrupted. Next summer, perhaps.”

  
  


A reception greater than Charles was given. An event that would be spoken of with awe, as the Field of Cloth of Gold was. A plan to change the world deserved a meeting no one could forget, didn't it?

  
  


\---

  
  


It was, perhaps, wrong for the sight of his wife to fill Brandon with such rage, but after talking to Henry, after listening to him say he regretted More’s death, that Anne was the one who urged him to it, coming upon Jane… And she, of course, was calm as she always was, glancing up from the letter she was reading and offering her usual polite smile. He meant to greet her, curtly, rather than immediately rage, but

  
  


"Do you know what your sister has done now?" he demanded instead. "Did you know she's the one who encouraged Henry to kill More?"

  
  


"I know you think that, Charles, and I don't know why, but it's not -”

  
  


"Don't you tell me it's not true!"

  
  


"Anne has barely spoken to the king since her miscarriage, and she would certainly not waste what little attention he deigns to give her ranting about Thomas More! Who told you this anyway?"

  
  


"The king himself did. He said that whenever he considered mercy, a certain person would urge him against it. When I asked him who, he said I knew who she was and indicated your sister, who was out in the gardens with the Howard girl you brought her and that little dog of hers."

  
  


Jane shook her head. "Anne had nothing to do with it. She's barely mentioned it - in fact, all she's said is that she worries that the executions will make people hate her and Elizabeth, after we'd worked so hard to make them at least tolerant. She's not sorry Fisher and More are dead - she knows they would have ever been her enemies - but she's no fool and she knows who will be blamed for this." Some of his surprise at that comment must have shown, because Jane smiled a smile very reminiscent of her brother Edward. "Anne has a temper, and she says many things she ought not because of it, but none of us are fools, and we've been working to try and make people like her."

  
  


"Your stepfather and Norfolk certainly haven't," Brandon said, thinking of the high-handed, arrogant lords. Even he, with his hatred of Anne, enjoyed the fact that Anne seemed to be as disdainful of Norfolk as he himself was; it was oddly fun to watch the duke grow ever more irked.

  
  


"Well, no, but then again they've always washed their hands of the important parts of this. From the very beginning, it was Anne, and me, and our siblings doing most of the work." There was a bitter edge to Jane's voice now. "The only thing my stepfather did was order first me and then George's wife Cat to spy on Katherine, and take the honors. Oh, well, he worked on Anne's behalf when the king willed it, as did Norfolk, and they both pushed her when it meant defeating Wolsey - but you know all about that, of course," Jane added with an unpleasant smile. "Tell me, Charles, what _did_ make you turn on us? Was it losing your first wife? What?"

  
  


His anger had begun to fade, fascinated as he was by this glimpse of a side of the Boleyn faction he'd never seen, but now temper flared again. "Because I saw what your sister was willing to do to a good woman, a queen who didn't deserve it!"

  
  


"And just who do you think started all this? My sister, or your precious royal friend?!" Jane snapped, all but leaping from her chair, and he'd never heard her raise her voice before. Jane was the quiet one, compared to sharp-tongued Anne and the other Ann, her cold fish of a sister-in-law. Lady Catherine Boleyn and Lady Mary Percy were the friendly charmers. This was entirely unexpected.

  
  


"Your sister was the one who insisted on marriage," he said carefully, because in truth he knew it was quite likely Henry had begun the pursuit. Who knew better than he that Henry rarely needed a woman to try to catch his eye? Eleanor Luke hadn't been trying, he knew.

  
  


"Oh, so Anne is to be blamed for refusing to whore herself. Of course. She did not insist on anything. I know, because I was there. She never told him to divorce Katherine and marry her. She told him that she would not be a mistress, because we saw that in France. We saw what happened to women when a king was done with them. She didn't want to be just another discarded mistress. The king offered her marriage, insisted he would soon be free. What exactly was she supposed to do, tell him no?"

  
  


"She could have lowered her price when she saw the damage she was causing!" Brandon exploded again. "Whoever began, whoever had the idea, she could have stopped it!"

  
  


"And what do you think the king would have done to her, to all our family? Even leaving aside the fact that she fell in love with him, God help her, what choice do you think she ever really had? What choice did Bessie Blount have, or any of them? What about Eleanor Luke? You were the one who brought her to the king's attention, we all know it was you. What did you do, Charles? Did he ask her? Did you? Or did you just point to her, did he just nod, and was she then ordered to his bed? I will say this for you, at least you ask a woman when it's on your own accoun. You haven't forced me when anyone would say you had every right to, so I doubt you'd force someone else. But your royal friend, all he has to do is command. And even if a woman doesn't want him, how can she dare say no?"

  
  


"Your sister did," He retorted, ignoring the uncomfortable fact that she was right. Henry was charming and handsome, and he was the king. So, many women would come to him willingly out of attraction, and others would agree for what he could do for her and hers. Brandon had never considered that a woman who was not attracted, who did not wish to sell herself despite the advantages, still had no easy way out of it once Henry decided he wanted her. He didn't like considering it. He had never forced a woman - it wasn't worth it if she didn't want it. He did not think Henry would do so intentionally for they thought similarly in such things, but if he did not realize he was forcing someone, if he thought the woman wanted it because she did not dare act otherwise... He didn't want to think about it.

  
  


Jane's laugh was harsh, grating. "And we were terrified. None of us knew what we were doing, and my stepfather left us taking all the risk. He actually said as much, he didn't even pretend." She turned away from him, standing at the window, gripping the sill so tight her knuckles whitened. "I remember how it was, when it started. I remember how panicked Anne was. I remember how unsure Edward and Mary and I were, how even George and Tom knew we were playing a risky game. And all anyone can see is that Anne seduced the king away from his wife. He didn't want Katherine anymore, and he wanted a son. He thought, still thinks, Anne can give him one. And why not? But never think this is about her more than it is about that son. If it had not been Anne it would have been someone else. Perhaps a foreign princess as Wolsey wanted, a wiser choice that might have earned King Henry support for his divorce. But open your eyes, Charles. It would have been _someone_."

  
  


And with that, his wife spun around again, stalking past him to the door. Brandon thought about stopping her, thought about continuing this fight, thought even about kissing away her fury because Jane Seymour in a temper was actually surprisingly attractive. But he didn't know what to say to keep fighting, and he suspected that she would not be at all willing to kiss him in this state. So he let her go, and she slammed the door behind her hard enough the sound echoed. Or maybe he just thought it did.

  
  


He had no reason to believe her. No reason to think Anne didn't plan all this and her sister was now covering for her. No reason... And yet Jane's version of events fit with every player as he knew them, except for Anne herself. He didn't want to think Henry was truly to blame. Not for the divorce, not for More's death - especially not More's death, he was honest enough to admit. Because More had once been one of Henry's dearest friends. His fall reminded Brandon uncomfortably of how close he had once come to going the same way.

  
  


_"He threatened to make you a head shorter,"_ Margaret's voice echoed in his head. Henry hadn't done it, hadn't even arrested him. Brandon had gotten back into his good graces with an arm wrestling match. But now... He found himself wondering what Margaret would make of this. And suddenly, he remembered that she had blamed Henry. Oh, she had despised Anne, but she'd always placed the blame for what was happening squarely on Henry.

  
  


Margaret had known Henry better than anyone, better even in some ways than Brandon himself. Perhaps because they were so much alike, a truth that he never looked at too closely because Anthony had once made some comment along the lines of Brandon wanting Margaret as a wife for all the reasons he enjoyed Henry's friendship. It had been an odd, unsettling thing for Anthony to say, and for Brandon to hear. So he didn't let himself think about it for long.

  
  


Margaret had understood Henry, and she had blamed him, not Anne, for all her hatred of the woman. Jane insisted that Henry had started all this, that in the end Anne had played the best hand she had, because she had no choice.

  
  


He didn't know what to think.

  
  


\---

  
  


“I only hope this will settle him,” Cat heard Mary murmur to her husband, the pair of them standing next to her in the pew. On their other side, she saw Edward and Ann glance at Mary, twin expressions of skepticism on their faces. Cat bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Her husband either hadn't heard or was ignoring the comment, his eyes staying on Thomas and Jane Parker as they turned from the altar. Cat wondered what George was thinking, if he was remembering their own wedding day.

  
  


She wasn't sure if their marriage was a good one or not, in truth. Oh, they got on well enough, in bed and out of it, which was about all one could really ask for, she supposed. Still... She looked at Mary and Hal Percy, their clear affection for each other, or Ann and Edward who were partners to such an extent they seemed almost able to read each other's minds, and she wondered. George was more closed off now than he'd been when they wed, still teasing and friendly as he'd been on their wedding night, but somehow distant at the same time, as if he had some secret.

  
  


Another woman, probably, and maybe the lack of true closeness in their marriage was as much on Cat as it was on George, for she found she didn't much care if he did have someone else. He didn't shame her publicly, and he had not forsaken her bed nor asked her to care for any bastards – that Jane tolerated Brandon's eldest child, a bastard daughter, was one thing because the girl's birth had been long before Jane wed Brandon. Cat would have lived with a bastard of George's who preceded their marriage, but she would not be happy to care for a child her husband got now on some mistress.

  
  


Although if she did not become a mother herself soon, she might have a problem. She had thought herself pregnant twice now, but the first time she had only been late, and the second... No one knew about the miscarriage, because while she was not in a position so risky as Anne's, she did not need her father-in-law deciding she hadn't been worth the match. She didn't trust Wiltshire not to do it, and she wasn't sure she trusted George to defend her.

  
  


Looking at Tom and Jane – and really, they now had two Janes in the family as well as an Anne and an Ann, it was getting a bit ridiculous. _Probably best if none of us name our children for each other_ , she thought wryly. But looking at them, she wondered if Jane Parker now Seymour knew what she was getting into. From the small, catlike smile on her face, Cat rather thought she either didn't or did know and had wanted exactly this. It made sense; she'd seen Jane seeking Tom out more than once, after all. Although she wasn't sure Tom with an ambitious wife was good news.

  
  


It wasn't her concern, in any case. What was her concern was conceiving a child, before anyone got too annoyed with her. And she rather thought she might have managed it this time. Cat was no witch, not truly, but she had the old journals, the old tales, and she knew an herbal drink to make, to increase fertility. It had occurred to her, also, that if it worked for her it might work for Anne, who would need it even more – the odds were good, though none would say it aloud, that Katherine of Aragon's problems were as much the King's fault as hers.

  
  


So she'd collected raspberry and nettle leaves, and clover flowers, and brewed them down when she and George were staying at Grimston Manor, away from court. And now she had missed her courses for three months. She'd told no one yet, and did not mean to tell anyone until she was very sure, passing off her mild sickness in the mornings as nothing of interest. Her maid asked no questions, and her sickness was more intermittent than her sisters-in-law's had been. It meant she could hide her condition until things were more certain.

  
  


While she'd been thinking, she noticed that George had vanished. He was doing that a lot these days, slipping away as soon as everyone was occupied. And sure enough, everyone was. Tom and his new wife were dancing, probably trying to compete with Edward and Ann – actually, it was a close thing, though Edward and Ann were as attuned to each other in dancing as in everything else. Hal was talking with Norfolk and looking like he really didn't want to be there. Brandon wasn't anywhere to be seen either, and nor was the King, though they'd both come, and so it was no surprise that Anne hovered by the window with Mary trying to distract her, and Jane sat with the Riverses.

  
  


No one would have noticed George leave, and they didn't notice her either, as she slipped off in search of him. She was getting rather tired of his secrets; if he had a mistress, she'd rather he just tell her so, glad as she was that he didn't flaunt it. Unlike Anne, the secrecy didn't drive her half-mad, it just felt... insulting, somehow. She knew the way of the world, knew that men had other women despite marriage vows. It felt like a dismissal that George might think she was so foolish as to not realize he had secrets.

  
  


And if it was something else, something dangerous... Well, in that case, so far as Cat was concerned she had every _right_ to know. What her husband did would reflect on her, on the child she might carry and any children who came after. She ought to be able to prepare, to help defend their name if it was going to need it.

  
  


She heard them long before she saw them, that low amused laugh she remembered from her wedding night. And someone else laughing, just as soft, just as intimate. Only – that voice was too deep, surely, to be female? And familiar as well, she thought... The chamber door was ajar, just enough for her to see a man tugging a shirt over his head. She recognized the long, slender hands, the mop of curly hair.

  
  


Cat fled as silently as she could, fighting desperately to keep her composure until she was alone in her own chamber. Then she sat on her bed, staring blankly at the wall. George and, and Mark Smeaton. A lover and a dangerous thing all in one, she thought dizzily, hysterically. She didn't know how she felt about it. The Bible said it was a sin, a terrible sin, but it said the same of witchcraft, and she came of a line of witches who had sired kings.

  
  


She didn't know what to think, didn't know what to do – No. She did know what to do. She would announce her pregnancy, and retire to the country. There, where the spies did not watch her every move, where she could be away from courtiers and her husband's kin, and even her own, she could think. She could prepare to bring her child into the world and consider how to handle her husband.

  
  


It was the wisest course, the best course. And it was what she was going to do even if it wasn't.

  
  


\---

  
  


Anne was occupied with Elizabeth, so Jane took the opportunity to slip away. Lady Bryan didn’t want to let her see the Lady Mary, but Jane drew herself up, using her best imperious air. (She might have picked that up imitating Anne and Ann, but she’d never have said so aloud, especially to them.) “I am the Queen’s sister, and you will do as I wish,” she informed the woman, and so was allowed to see the girl.

  
  


Lady Mary’s room was shockingly dismal, and Jane had to fight to keep the dismay from her expression. Surely this wasn’t - but of course, it had to be the King’s orders. Jane knew that Anne’s orders mostly consisted of telling Lady Bryan to slap down any defiance as harshly as she could, as she was usually present when Anne wrote the letters. And Jane couldn’t even argue with Anne that much on the point - the more defiant Mary got, the more she put herself at risk as much as anyone else.

  
  


And in truth, they needed Mary to relent, if possible. The executions of Fisher, More, and the Carthusians had stirred up a rage they had hoped to quiet with their earlier moves to drum up support or at least neutrality for Anne. Not that the king was doing them any favors, Jane thought resentfully, thinking of her argument with her lord husband. Brandon had said nothing more against her sister - had said very little at all, actually, and watched all of them with a intensity that was disquieting even if it did not seem particularly hostile. But Mary... Some courtiers, when they came to pay their respects to Elizabeth, still made sure to give some acknowledgment to Mary, as they did to Henry Fitzroy where they could. Hedging their bets, which was no surprise, really.

  
  


But Jane pushed those thoughts aside to focus on Mary. The girl rose from her chair and gave a curtsey, just the proper degree to be given to a duchess. Very precise, very exact. Not a surprise from a once-princess whose mother was the impeccably royal Katherine of Aragon, yet Jane was still impressed. " _She_ has sent you, Lady Suffolk?" Mary asked coolly when Jane introduced herself.

  
  


"No, my sister has not sent me," Jane said, choosing a familial way to refer to Anne, rather than one based in rank, to keep things neutral. She would not lower her sister by word or deed, but she knew calling Anne queen would serve no purpose save to ensure Mary heard nothing she said. "But she knows that I am speaking with you, Lady Mary."

  
  


"I am not Lady Mary, I am the Princess of Wales."

  
  


Well, whatever she was, she had the haughty manner of an empress, Jane reflected with an inward sigh. Not that she blamed Mary, or was surprised. The girl, through her mother, had the bluest blood of any of the Tudors, and that included her own father. And she did not deserve what she was being put through. Still, this was both unpromising and dangerous. "Madam," Jane said, again choosing a title as neutral as she could, "the king has decreed that no one call you that."

  
  


"He cannot change the truth, and you can tell your _sister_ that," Mary snapped, lifting her chin. "This is all her fault. My father would never have treated my mother and me like this without her."

  
  


Mary was the second person to express such an opinion as that to Jane recently, an opinion she knew many shared. But while with Brandon Jane had snapped back, she did not want to do that with Mary. "It was the king who placed you here," she said gently. "And even if it had been my sister, he had the power to gainsay her. But that is not why I am here, madam."

  
  


"I know why you're here," Mary retorted. "You want me to take the Oath and deny my mother, deny my birthright. Well, I will not. I will not betray my mother, I will not betray God." She stood there, sounding so much like her mother at the Blackfriars court, but her stance so much like her father's. Jane suppressed another sigh. Stubbornness from both sides.

  
  


"You're right. I do want you to take the Oath. You don't deserve to be here, you deserve to be acknowledged and respected as your father's daughter. To come to court, or be allowed to set up your own establishment like your half brother. No one wants you to be here, not you or your mother, not me or Anne, not your father." Jane wasn't at all sure of that last, actually, but she said it anyway. "I understand that you don't want to betray your mother, but defiance can become dangerous for you. She is no true threat - she has no claim to the throne in her own right. You, on the other hand, are a Tudor. This defiance is truly risky for you, madam." Kindness, Jane sensed, would not be welcomed when it came from Anne Boleyn's sister, but perhaps directness would at least make Mary think.

  
  


"I cannot risk my eternal soul for earthly favor," Mary said, but there was the slightest unsteadiness in her voice.

  
  


"God understood when early Christians fled rather than become martyrs, before Rome became Christian," Jane pointed out. It was actually something she'd heard Ann say - God only knew what she, Edward, and Michael had been talking about but they were always debating theological points. It was worth a try. "God understands when we need to keep ourselves safe. Martyrdom only matters when there's a point. There would be no point if you died. They will just forget you."

  
  


"My father would never hurt me. The only one who would is your sister!" Mary insisted, turning away from Jane, wringing her hands. "I want you to leave!"

  
  


"Anne's not that much of a fool. Ambassador Chapuys has probably told you she's made angry threats about you, and she has. But had she meant them, she would never have drawn attention to it by saying so. She knows she'd be suspected. As for your father, no, he would not kill you." Unless he believed her a traitor, but there was a certain degree of bluntness that Jane couldn't bear to voice to a young woman about her father. "But Henry II didn't order the death of Thomas Becket, either. He simply said something in anger, and four knights thought they were doing him a favor. That could happen to you."

  
  


"You're trying to scare me and I won't have it. Leave me!" The girl's voice was sharp, angry, but wavering slightly, as though she tried to hold back tears. Part of Jane regretted the harsh truths she'd spoken, but someone had to do it.

  
  


"Yes, I am, in hopes that it will make you think about the risks you take. You deserve better, but I don't think you understand the game you are playing," Jane said quietly. Then she did as the girl asked and left her alone.

  
  


\---

  
  


It was something of a risk to suggest the marriage now, Anne knew. Henry had barely spoken to her lately, and had certainly not visited her bed - while she was grateful to Ann for hitting on an excuse that technically absolved her of blame in her miscarriage, it was as inconvenient as her father had ranted about. Henry was already pulling away from her, and for him to have an excuse to do so wasn't helping at all.

  
  


But the marriage was important. Elizabeth needed to be recognized, and if Francis agreed to the betrothal, then it would help secure her position. Especially as Mary had previously had a French betrothal, and she continued to be recalcitrant. Anne didn't know and hadn't asked exactly what had passed between Katherine's daughter and Jane, but clearly Jane's hope of winning Mary over had not been fulfilled. Jane had ranted about the way Mary was housed, how it was shameful for Henry to treat even a defiant daughter that way, but...

  
  


Well. As far as Anne was concerned, if misery eventually made Mary yield, it would be better for them all - even including the foolish girl herself. And she certainly wasn't going to use what little time Henry was willing to grant her to speak up for _Mary_. Whatever Jane thought. "There are some people, abroad and even here in this kingdom, who still persist in calling Elizabeth illegitimate," she began, and when Henry looked at her with almost no change of expression, she felt compelled to add, "It's true. You know it's true. But there is something that we can do to change everything. If Elizabeth was betrothed to the Duke of Angouleme, King Francis' youngest son, then her legitimacy would no longer be questioned by anyone."

  
  


Well. Even Anne had to admit that would not be entirely the case. The Emperor would continue to insist that his cousin was the only true Princess of England, but even the Pope might relent if Francis' backing became the more solid thing a betrothal would require.

  
  


"I agree," Henry began, and Anne almost breathed a sigh of relief, but then he continued. "A marriage for Elizabeth would indeed improve her standing. But not the Duke of Angouleme. I have begun to think that Francis' promise to stand with us cannot be trusted, and I have no intention of giving him our daughter, who for the time being is also my heir."

  
  


There was a roaring in Anne's ears. "But - you cannot - not an Imperial match -" If there was risk in making an offer to France, and Anne wasn't so naive as to be unaware of said risk, then to make an offer to the Imperials was pure insanity.

  
  


"Of course not an Imperial match," Henry said scornfully, and then Anne guessed that some of her sheer panic must have broken through the coldness that Henry had shown her ever since she'd lost their baby, because his expression softened. "Anne. I would never do such a thing. But there has been an offer for Elizabeth, a better offer than a younger son."

  
  


"An offer? From who?" In earlier months she would have demanded to know why Henry had not already told her, but with the way things had been with them lately, she knew it was almost a miracle he was saying anything to her at all before the agreements were signed.

  
  


"From Manuel, King of Portugal. His son and heir will need a wife someday. The boy, Infante Miguel, is much closer in age to Elizabeth than Francis' son, and as a crown prince, of higher rank. And he has always acknowledged you as Queen, so there's little chance he will back out of the betrothal."

  
  


Portugal? Anne sat back in her chair, caught utterly by surprise. She did not know what she'd expected Henry to say, but that was not it. Still... “Is not Portugal too close to Spain? The Emperor is wed to King Manuel's sister, and that sister as well as the other Portuguese princesses are Katherine's nieces.” Henry was right in saying that the Portuguese king had never objected to her, had always acknowledged her as Henry's wife. His ambassador was the soul of courtesy to her. Still, she had never considered them a strong possibility as an ally. They had little strength left with Spain grown so very powerful as part of the Empire, so far as she knew.

  
  


“Yes, but Manuel is no kin to Katherine, nor has he any love for the Emperor. England and Portugal were once close allies, and it would be useful for both Manuel and I to revive that alliance. And so, Elizabeth will be betrothed to Infante Miguel. More than that, I have a mind to invite King Manuel and his queen here next spring, the way I once invited the Emperor, to show the world that England and Portugal are allies again as of old.” Henry's smile was strangely unpleasant as he added, “And perhaps even my useless nephew the King of Scots will deign to attend. He does acknowledge you, in the only time he's ever shown me the respect a nephew ought to have for an uncle.”

  
  


The tone of Henry's voice told Anne that arguing would do her no good, and anyway she wasn't certain that it was something worth arguing about. She had never paid enough attention to Portugal before to be certain. So instead she smiled brightly. “Of course. It will be far better to see Elizabeth as a future Queen Consort than as a future Duchess.” She reached out for Henry's hand when he responded with a smile of his own. “Will you come to my bed tonight?” she asked quietly.

  
  


Henry shook his head and the brief moment of warmth was gone.

  
  


Later, Anne sat with Edward, trying not to think about Henry's rejection by focusing instead on the proposed marriage. “It's actually a better match than with France, I think,” Edward said, sipping his wine. “Especially given that the Queen of Portugal is related to the leader of the Schmalkaldic League. That's why Manuel married her – it was one more move against the Emperor.”

  
  


“Anna of Cleves, I remember,” Anne said absently, going to stand by the window and watching Henry ride off with only a few companions. She didn't see Brandon with him but that didn't mean he wasn't going off to one of his sluts. She knew he had them, hidden away from her sight. Ann said she ought to be grateful if he had a harem of concubines; they could not be a threat to her as a single mistress at court might.

  
  


Maybe she was right in a practical sense, but Anne's heart couldn't see it that way. And, even if she _could_ look at it in coolly practical terms, if Henry sated his desires with them, whoever they were, then he would want to be in her bed less than he already did. Which would make conception harder. Turning away, trying not to think about it, she said, “But she's a Catholic, isn't she?”

  
  


“Mm. Non-papal Catholic.” It was a term for those who cleaved to Catholic rite but not to the Pope, a strange sort of halfway measure that popped up mostly in Germany. Though Anne knew that some of the conservatives, like her uncle, would prefer England to follow such an example rather than take the path of further reform. “Portugal's Catholic,” Edward continued, “and still technically _Roman_ Catholic, but some people think Manuel means to take his realm the same way – he's fiercely independent, and has come in for censure because he's taken up the old Moorish policy with regard to the Muslims and Jews in his realm, as well as Protestants.”

  
  


“You mean he's letting them stay, instead of banishing them?”

  
  


“Exactly. They can all have their houses of worship, though there is an extra tax for not being Catholic, based on the rank of the person involved. It's all quite curious, and they say it's bewilderment as much as anything else that keeps his nobles from revolt. That, and they agree with him on one key thing. If nothing else, the tax gives their government money to use on their defenses. They don't want to be pulled under the Emperor's control. But it is a good match, Anne. Probably the best anyone could get for Elizabeth, given the Pope's stance and her age relative to most of the other heirs of Europe.”

  
  


It _was_ a good match. And there was Henry's intention to invite the Portuguese king and queen here next spring. Anne recalled the Emperor's visit with near perfect clarity, and no wonder given that it was during those festivities that she had first accidentally caught Henry's eye. She knew very well that such a meeting, especially if it were also to include the Scottish king – Henry's last close kin, with both of his sisters dead – would help strengthen her position, if both kings were willing to acknowledge her. And she couldn't see how they, or Queen Anna, might avoid it when they were guests in Henry's court, even if their Catholic faith made them uncomfortable with the situation. Even Chapuys managed it primarily by avoiding _her_ , much easier for an ambassador than a visiting king being greeted with all ceremony.

  
  


And anyway, even if it was a terrible match, even if she had hated everything about it, which she didn't, what could she do about it? Henry had the power, and he could do as he willed. All Anne could do was look at this as an opportunity to strengthen her own position. To win the Portuguese and Scottish royals over, so that they would support her as she had once hoped Francis would.

  
  


_Be glad it's not a highborn mistress to challenge you_ , Ann had said about Henry's whores. _Make the best of it_. Well, when it came to this summit, Anne could make the best of that, at least.

 


	27. The Waiting Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As preparations for a grand summit get underway, life at court carries on, even as the extended Tudor family is drawn closer by the whims of the King.

Cromwell had been relatively new in the service of Thomas Wolsey when the Field of Cloth of Gold summit had been planned, but he recalled the sheer level of planning that had gone into it, the sometimes frankly ridiculous minutiae of it all. At least, he reflected, no one this time was worried about the kings' beards. Nor indeed was the situation quite so complex given that there was no need to build two cities of tents from nothing, although in many ways far more weighed upon it.

  
  


Before, if the Anglo-French alliance faltered, King Henry, who then believed himself wed to the Emperor's aunt, had the option of an Imperial alliance. Now of course that was utterly impossible – at least while Katherine of Aragon lived. Cromwell hoped that when she died, relations would thaw somewhat, if only for economic purposes. Trade with the Low Countries had not been entirely disrupted as they needed English wool as much as England needed their finished cloth, but it would go more smoothly if the Emperor wasn't so implacable an enemy. As for the French, they had wavered once already. So the Anglo-Portuguese alliance's revival, with the added element of the Schmalkaldic League, was crucial. They needed allies, and if these three powers could come to an agreement, it would be a start of something potentially far greater than it seemed.

  
  


There was the small matter of the Portuguese envoys in Navarre, in the Scandinavian countries. And, of course, in Scotland. In fact, one member of the Portuguese party would not be returning home with her half-brother and his Queen. Infanta Leonor, youngest daughter of the late King Luis and his second wife Maria of Aragon, would travel by land through England and across the Scottish border to marry King James V of Scotland. A Scottish party would be arriving at court for the summit to greet her, though as yet it was unclear as to whether or not King James himself would be among them. He had been invited by both his uncle and his future brother-in-law, but so far had been cagey about whether or not he would accept. If Scotland could be drawn away from France, drawn closer to an ally of England if not to England itself...

  
  


Well. He was putting the cart before the horse. At this moment, what he needed to do was ensure this meeting went off as well as possible. Which was quite difficult enough without dwelling on the stakes of it all. At least he wasn't working alone. He had his son and nephew, he had Rafe, and he had Michael. Edward Seymour was also proving quite useful, which was hardly surprising.

  
  


What _was_ surprising was the fact that Thomas Seymour was also proving of use. Oh, not to the more weighty side of things, but to the lighter issues of the festivities being planned. Thomas Seymour had a bit of a flair for such things, and could be found closeted with Queen Anne and Lord Ormonde, who had thrown themselves into working on that part of it all. Cromwell was happy enough to leave them to it.

  
  


He'd overheard Edward Seymour telling Michael that it was probably the influence of Thomas Seymour's new wife. Not a surprise, really; Jane Parker was not the most pleasant of women, but she clearly saw better than her husband ever had that the way to satisfying their ambition was getting close to his crowned sister. Cromwell knew, from his own observations and other sources, that the new Lady Seymour was doing her level best to make herself indispensable to the queen. He doubted she'd manage that when she was so new to the family, not with Lady Suffolk and Lady Northumberland around, not to mention Lady Beauchamp and Lady Ormonde if the latter ever returned to court. But she could probably make herself useful and liked if she worked at it.

  
  


A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and Cromwell looked up to see Michael standing there. “So Fraser's just gone to an audience with the king,” he said lightly. “Couldn't get him to say anything about it – I don't think our resident Scot likes me much, truth to tell. Wyatt still wanted me to wager on what I thought the conversation was going to be about.”

  
  


“And did you?” Cromwell asked, setting aside his papers for a moment. When he felt a headache begin, it was best to look away from them for a brief time, because if he didn't it could lead to pain strong enough to keep him from concentrating at all.

  
  


“Mm, no, I've never been much for gambling, actually. But if I were the betting sort, I'd say that King James has finally made his mind up. Which way he'll jump I can't be sure, but that bitch half-sister of his, Frances Douglas, just married Ormonde's brother-in-law Henry Grey. Given that they're residing at court in Richmond's household, she's probably in touch with King James. God knows she'd want her brother visiting; never lets anyone forget she's niece of one king and half-sister of another. I wonder if the younger Douglas girl is any more tolerable.”

  
  


“Reports suggest she's spirited, but not quite so arrogant,” Cromwell said, lips twitching in spite of himself. Michael tended to have that effect on him. “Well, I certainly hope you're right – this is a massive undertaking as it is, and being certain of whether we will have one king to host or two will be quite useful. Fortunately for Fraser either way, the king's in a surprisingly good mood at the moment.”

  
  


“What happened?”

  
  


If he were another man, Cromwell might have laughed aloud. As it was he smiled, shaking his head. “It seems that King Francis wanted to stop the Portuguese match from going through by offering his own son for Princess Elizabeth.”

  
  


Michael frowned. “The Duke of Angouleme?”

  
  


“No, the youngest son, Tristan, the one no one talks about much. Francis has so far avoided giving a special title to him, though he's generally referred to as Duke of Anjou by courtesy anyway, especially as he lives there. He's Queen Eleanor's child and they say Francis isn't much taken by a child he never meant to sire. At any rate, I doubt he truly meant the match to go through – who would take a fourth son for a daughter who's been offered a future king? He cited their closeness of age, though – the boy was born in 1531 – and our king has seen fit to take it as a sign that Francis is coming around again.”

  
  


“But you don't think so?” Michael prompted, not mentioning the fact that Henry might well wish a fourth son – one kin to the Emperor as well as King Francis for extra security – should there be no boy from Queen Anne. Cromwell had thought of that himself, but he also knew better than to say it.

  
  


“I imagine Francis wanted to tweak the Emperor's nose more than anything else, in truth. Prince Tristan is his nephew, after all. The king isn't considering it – the Portuguese offer is far better, after all, but the fact that it was made at all pleases him. And though he won't say it, I think he enjoys the idea of the Emperor's irritation as much as Francis probably did,” Cromwell said dryly, rearranging the papers on his desk.

  
  


Michael was about to say something when the door opened suddenly, the King striding in with a sharp smile on his face. “Master Cromwell. And...?” He raised an eyebrow at Michael. This was one of the king's many quirks, that he could overlook a man a thousand times, then suddenly want to know who he was. “I've seen you about, haven't I? With Viscount Beauchamp and his wife?”

  
  


Michael bowed deeply. “Lady Beauchamp is my half-sister, Your Majesty – my name is Michael, I am the natural son of Sir Edward Stanhope. My father arranged for me to be educated and I befriended Lord Beauchamp when we studied at Cambridge together.”

  
  


“And now you work for Cromwell. All to the good – he'll need the help, now that there will be three kings at court.” The king turned back to Cromwell. “That nephew of mine has decided he'll come after all. As is his younger sister, Margaret. And I have told Charles to send for his twins, my niece and nephew Edward and Eleanor, they will come to stay here with their father. And so by the time the summit comes around, it shall be a family gathering as much as a diplomatic meeting. And why not? Why should _my_ court be only a place where my _wife's_ kin gathers?

  
  


“My son the Duke of Richmond will be dispatched to the border to escort James south – and I want preparations made for him to be given lodging at court immediately, he will come here as soon as they are finished,” he continued. “As for the rest of the greeting parties... Surrey, I should think, Frances and her new husband of course. Not Northumberland – if the heir of one of the Northern lords is going, best not to send the other, for all he's my brother-in-law. And send my youngest brother-in-law, Thomas. George and Edward will both be in the group that meets Manuel, as will Norfolk and Charles.”

  
  


“As you say, Majesty,” Cromwell said with a deep bow. All of it was doable – the hardest part would actually be appropriate lodgings for the Duke of Richmond before the King grew tired of waiting for them.

  
  


After the King left, Michael looked at Cromwell, eyebrows raised. “Only a place where his wife's kin gathers? What do you think that was about?”

  
  


“I've no idea,” Cromwell admitted. The king wasn't wrong, of course; between the siblings of her own blood, her stepsiblings, and a clutch of Howard cousins, the queen did have a rather large contingent of relatives here at court. The king had only his niece, his bastard son, and somewhat distant – and not entirely trustworthy – Plantagenet cousins. Was it beginning to trouble him that this should be so?

  
  


<><><>

  
  


“I wish I could hate him,” Anne said quietly to Mary, who jumped, startled at such a sentiment from her younger sister. Coming to stand beside Anne at the window, she saw young Richmond at the archery butts. Henry Fitzroy, who they said had decided he was to be called Fitz now instead of Harry, thinking it a more mature nickname for himself. He was, as ever, surrounded by the boys he'd been raised with – which included their own cousin, Surrey, as well as their sister-in-law Cat's brother Henry Grey, and Kate Parr's brother William.

  
  


“Anne...”

  
  


“I know. He's my stepson, and given that he offers no objection to me, I owe him the duty of a mother when he can't have Bessie Blount near, or whatever she's called now. But... Look at him, Mary. He's everything a father could want, isn't he?”

  
  


There was, Mary knew, a certain truth to this. Fitzroy was a bright young man, and athletic as well – in short, he was quite a lot like the King himself had been as a boy. And, of course, everyone knew the King had toyed with making the boy his heir, everyone knew that his existence, his continued health, was the proof that the lack of princes was not due to King Henry. So she certainly could not blame her sister for her concern. Still, there was little chance that the King would advance him as an heir now – there was too much tension over the succession already, he had spilled blood to ensure Elizabeth would be accepted as heir until Anne bore a son.

  
  


But he was still and ever the living proof that the King could make a boy. So if he had no legitimate sons, he could put the blame on Anne and no one would dare argue. But they still had not been married long, and he did not always share his wife's bed. Mary said as much, pointing out that the King knew that, he had to know he couldn't have a son if he wasn't trying to do so.

  
  


“Yes, and that is where Ann's advice that I ought to let him have a harem falls short,” Anne said bitterly. “Oh, I've thought it over, I can see what she means and there's logic to it. But how logic is meant to make me feel better when my husband is breaking my heart I do not know, and more than that – even if I hated him, if he doesn't come to my bed I, our family, and above all Elizabeth are still at risk. He has the power now, Mary. He can make the Lady Mary his heiress again, he could legitimize that boy over there – if he can manage to make him a good enough marriage, he could pull it off.”

  
  


“But he's not trying to do that, Anne. This whole summit is about forcing the world to accept the new order of things here. If two kings acknowledge you in person, not to mention one's queen and the other's future queen – who is one of Katherine's nieces, never forget – then it shores up your position. If Elizabeth is betrothed to the heir of Portugal, the same is true again. And Richmond is always perfectly respectful to you, isn't he?”

  
  


“Yes, but Lady Bryan tells me he speaks long with the Lady Mary every time he visits Hatfield, officially to see Elizabeth.”

  
  


“They are family. Does Lady Bryan say what they speak of?” Mary knew very well that there was no chance that Lady Bryan would let anyone speak with the Lady Mary unwatched, not even her half-brother.

  
  


“He seems to be trying to befriend her, and convince her to take the Oath.”

  
  


“But that would be a good thing!”

  
  


“Yes, but to what end?”

  
  


It was a fair question. Even so... “And what of young Kathryn?” Mary said, gesturing to the archers, now joined by several of the younger girls of Anne's household not currently on duty. Chief among them was Kathryn Howard, who appeared to shocking them all with her impeccable aim. Mary had heard the girl was something of a crack shot with anything that came to her hand, an odd skill but one that was serving her well among the younglings. Actually, Mary was a bit reminded of Anne in the way the girl had so many of them oriented around her – except that Kathryn had more women friends than Anne had ever had. Anne rarely got on with women not related to her, Nan Saville and Madge Shelton rare exceptions. Still, given how the girl idolized Anne and Jane, perhaps the similarities were not so strange.

  
  


“What of Kathryn?” Anne asked, confused.

  
  


“She adores you. Would she spend her leisure time with Richmond's set if he was against you? No boy of fifteen is going to behave with full discretion, and they spend a good deal of time in each other's company. I suspect she's a bit smitten with him, actually, but it wouldn't be enough if he ever seemed to dislike you.”

  
  


“Perhaps,” Anne said quietly, shaking her head and turning from the window, picking up her German primer again. Upon speaking with the Portuguese ambassador and learning that Queen Anna of Portugal was only just mastering Portuguese and otherwise only spoke her native German, Anne had set herself to learning enough German to allow herself to communicate with her fellow Queen. It was part of Anne's attempt to make the very most of this summit, to ensure that she would be as ideal a consort to Henry as possible. Mary, for one, approved. Anne would do far better if she focused on improving the things that she could, as it would also keep her too busy to fret much about Richmond or anyone else.

  
  


Leaving her sister to her study, Mary found her husband in the stables – they'd planned to ride together after he was free of the council meeting. Since their return to court, his rank and connection to Anne had ensured him a place there, though Mary knew he did not much like it.

  
  


“Cromwell wants to close the monasteries. All of them. And take all their revenues for the royal treasury,” Hal said once they had ridden out far enough to be as certain as they could be that no one would overhear them.

  
  


“Anne was talking about that the other day. Not today – today she was worrying about Richmond. Is there a threat from him, do you think?”

  
  


“Not likely. The boy doesn't seem to have much in the way of ambition, to tell the truth. A singularly unusual thing in one of Tudor blood. Who would have expected it? And the King daren't advance him as any kind of heir, not with things so uncertain. At most, he might be a threat if he marries and sires legitimate children; it would hardly be ideal for a king to leave his throne to a grandson by his bastard, however trueborn the boy himself might be, but if he ever became truly desperate it might just be doable. But there's not even talk of a marriage for Richmond yet, so I wouldn't dwell on the idea.”

  
  


“That was what I thought,” Mary agreed. “Anne said, about the monasteries, she was hoping some of the land and money could be used for the people, farms and schools and hospitals, that sort of thing.”

  
  


“They ought to be left alone entirely – so long as they accept the king as Head, of course,” Hal added quickly, even though Mary well knew that her husband was still a Catholic at heart, praying in Latin when no one but she could hear. But, sensibly, he had agreed they must raise their children firmly as members of the English Church, with no hint of Papism. But she knew he disapproved of it all, especially now that this new phase was beginning.

  
  


  
“But if they will not be, surely Anne's idea is the better one? Especially given all the discontent these days. You could give the idea your support.”

  
  


Hal raised his eyebrows. “Is it Mary speaking to me or Anne?”

  
  


“Your wife, with general good sense, my Lord Percy,” Mary said archly, then spurred her horse ahead, daring him to race after her. Out here, they were just a husband and wife enjoying their time alone, not a high lord and his lady. They'd had their serious talk, and now they could indulge.

  
  


<><><>

  
  


“You could come back to court.”

  
  


Mary valued her half-brother's visits, in a way and to a degree that she never could have anticipated. He – and little Elizabeth – were the only ones who showed her any warmth, and it helped her to carry on during the worst days. But every single time he visited, he insisted on bringing up the Oath. He seemed to mean well, Mary had to admit that. He stressed the advantages to her should she submit – their father would release her from her service to Elizabeth, she might be given her own manor, she would have an honored place at court, as well as an allowance for her needs.

  
  


But her brother – Harry who liked to call himself Fitz now, as he thought it sounded less childish – never acknowledged the disadvantages. He never mentioned what it would do to her sainted mother if she was told, or the risk to Mary's own soul. “Return to court at the risk of damnation, Fitz?” she asked sharply. They have agreed to use only first names or nicknames with each other, rather than argue over titles.

  
  


“Oh Mary. I've taken it and don't feel my soul in peril.”

  
  


“I cannot speak for you. Only for myself. I cannot damn myself, and even if I could submit with my soul safe, how could I betray my mother like that?” Mary snapped, hands on her hips. “Could _you_ do that to _your_ mother?”

  
  


Fitz paused, looking stricken. “My mother would first want me safe, whatever I was required to say of her.”

  
  


“Are you saying – ?” Was he accusing her mother of not loving her enough?

  
  


“No, Mary. Everyone knows that your mother adores you. But I think – some of you true royals, and you are that with your royal blood on both sides of the family, regardless of legitimacy, but some of you think more of rank than of your lives. What matters most is figuring out how to survive. If you're still here, you're still in a position where you might recover one day.”

  
  


“I will not die, Fitz. Our father would never order my death.” But she could not help but think of what the Concubine's stepsister had said to her, referencing what happened to Thomas Becket. She pushed the thought away as she had even as she heard it, as she had done many times since. It wasn't true. It _wasn't_. At least... So she wanted to believe. But the idea that her father might rage about her one day, and someone might take that to mean killing her would... If the Concubine should decide to poison her...

  
  


No. She would not let herself begin to think that way.

  
  


“Just promise me you'll think about it, Mary. Father is gathering all the family at court – our cousin Margaret Douglas is joining the household of Elizabeth's mother, her sister Frances Grey is already there with her new husband, and little Eleanor Brandon will be at court with her stepmother, as a maid of honor. Her twin brother Edward will be there too, though I'm not sure in what capacity yet. He says he wants to have his family close. Thinking like that, he'd be more open to welcoming you back, I know it. And with the summit with King James and King Manuel coming up next spring, he'll want to show the family as united as possible.”

  
  


“Especially as his sisters are my cousins, and one of them is marrying King James?” Technically, Mary was not supposed to know any of the goings-on beyond Hatfield, but people talked, forgetting her presence at times or not noticing her. That too was one of the few things about her life now that could be a positive thing; the fact that she was occasionally overlooked meant she learned things, and her lack of proper attendance meant she knew true privacy, even if it was in a near-cell of a room. Still, behind that closed door no one knew if she cried, no one heard her pray forbidden Latin prayers. It was like the affection of her half-siblings; one of the few good things she could find to keep her going forward every day.

  
  


If she took the Oath, everything would change for her. She would not have to search for small things to cling to, to make life tolerable. She would be well-treated and cared for again. She would never be a servant again. It was a persuasive image. In spite of herself, Mary longed for it.

  
  


But no. She could not betray her mother and her faith in such a way. She could not deny who she truly was.

  
  


A door opened; Elizabeth toddled out with one of her nursemaids, making as straight a path as she could for Fitz, who laughed and swung her up onto her shoulders. “May! May! Watch us!” Elizabeth called, imperious as her royal blood – blood Mary never denied they shared – demanded.

  
  


“I'm watching, sister,” Mary called back, ignoring the nasty look sent her way by Lady Bryan for denying Elizabeth the title their father had wrongly given her. But Mary could not pretend, not for one moment – even if it would be easier to call Elizabeth 'Princess' than it ever would to call Elizabeth's mother 'Queen'. Elizabeth at least was a Tudor, and Mary loved her. She was a usurper only by accident, she did not know and would never be taught the truth.

  
  


But Mary would not do it. She could not do it, and she could not think of the cost. She would watch her brother and sister, and take pleasure in having that, at least. It was more than her mother was allowed, she knew, and it was a gift she would not spurn.

  
  


<><><>

  
  


“Father, look!” Eleanor said excitedly as Brandon entered the chamber. She spun round for him, graceful as any of the maids at court, in a dress fit for court. The Tudor green skirts swirled around her, her dark blonde hair flying out, and for a moment Brandon saw only Margaret and could not breathe through the stunning pain for it, all the worse for his having thought grief had passed. Then he blinked and it was his daughter again, thirteen and giddy at the thought of going to court.

  
  


“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he said, kissing her forehead. Edward was not so keen on the idea of court, preferring the country where he did not need to watch his manners so carefully, but as in most things, the twins looked at this newest development in their young lives and had completely different reactions. Ellie, Brandon knew, was thrilled, and indeed hoped she might be able to remain at court. He had not yet made up his mind on that score, but he was well aware of her hopes. And so was Jane, he had to acknowledge as he watched her smiling indulgently at Ellie as they sorted through jewelry, seeking pieces to match the dress.

  
  


He could not fault Jane as a stepmother; she had taken all three of his children to her heart, even Sarah who many women of noble rank would ignore due to her bastardy. And she was the only mother the twins would clearly remember. He could not even fault her as a wife – save in bed, but that was by his choice, she had never denied him conjugal rights. All he could really hold against her was her kin.

  
  


And yet... He'd been unable to forget the things she'd said to him about her sister, about the start of the Great Matter from their perspective, about Thomas Boleyn's coldness. He'd found himself brooding upon it. Now, watching Ellie all but dance from the room in her court dress, holding two more of them to her chest, he couldn't fathom it. How could a father...?

  
  


“How could he do as you claimed?” he asked, unthinking. When Jane, reordering her jewel box, looked up in confusion, Brandon clarified, “Wiltshire. How could a father just brush off his daughter that way?”

  
  


“I still don't know,” Jane admitted quietly. “I just know that it's what happened. I know that when Anne almost died of the Sweat, her uncle Norfolk came to Wolf Hall to tell me that if she died, it was my duty to seduce King Henry and replace her.”

  
  


The thought of Jane in Henry's bed made Brandon inexplicably angry, unsettlingly so. But he pushed the thought aside to focus on what Jane had said of Norfolk. “I knew he was cruel and cold and lacking in imagination, I didn't know he was stupid. You never would have consented.”

  
  


“Haven't we discussed how little consent truly matters?”

  
  


“If you'd gone to Henry - “

  
  


“Perhaps. It's long past now, and hardly matters. I brought it up only because I want you to truly understand how things were on our side of matters before you condemn us.”

  
  


He shook his head. “I don't know that I can understand. I could never hand my daughters over like that. To a respectable marriage, yes, but not to...”

  
  


“Then I am glad for Sarah and Eleanor,” Jane said bluntly. “They deserve better.

  
  


“So did you,” Brandon said before he thought about it. “And perhaps so did your sister. But this makes one thing even harder to understand. After what you went through, how can either of you let Mary be so ill-treated? Anne insisted she serve Elizabeth...” Brandon trailed off at the look on Jane's face. “That wasn't Henry's idea.” But it was half a question.

  
  


“It was. Anne never objected, and I confess I'm not terribly happy with the indifference she has toward the girl either, but there's only so much she can afford to do. Mary threatens Elizabeth, and surely you would not say a woman should defend someone else's child at the expense of her own?”

  
  


How exactly was he supposed to contradict that?

  
  


<><><>

  
  


“You're expected back at court with me, Catherine,” George said uncomfortably. Cat, looking down at Jacquetta in her cradle, bit back a caustic laugh at his tone. She'd been cool and distant during each of his rare visits, so he knew there was something wrong. He just hadn't worked out what it was – or if he had somehow guessed she knew at least that he had a lover, he hadn't dared to bring it up yet.

  
  


In some ways, of course, Cat wasn't sure what was wrong either. It wasn't that she was angry, oddly enough. She was worried, that was certain – for what he was doing, what he risked, George wasn't nearly discreet enough – but not angry. Most of all, she was confused. How was she supposed to react to what she knew?

  
  


Had her husband taken a mistress, Cat would have known what to do. Men strayed; it was rare for a husband to be truly faithful. It was a lesson Anne still needed to learn, as Ann was so fond of pointing out – ironic given that her husband was one of the rare ones. But Cat would have known how to handle George and another woman. She would have ignored it, perhaps attempted to draw her husband's attentions back to her if she were so inclined. She would have been able to confide in other women who faced the same predicament. But this...

  
  


Well, it was certainly possible that she wasn't the only wife at court whose husband sought the company of other men. But of course, assuming those other wives had learned the truth as she had, not a one of them would ever dare speak of it to anyone. So that was an impossibility. As for drawing George's eyes back to her, well, he clearly enjoyed the charms of women. He was, as she well knew, a skilled lover, and had had something of a reputation among the court women before their marriage. But if he also enjoyed men, presumably that was in part because it would be a different sort of desire and enjoyment. Something a woman couldn't provide.

  
  


That it was a crime and a cardinal sin was something she didn't think on for long. George knew that already, so pointing it out wasn't going to help matters. George's soul was his own to care for, and anyway, there would be those quick enough to call her damned for the music she heard when one of her kin died, for the herblore she knew and used, for the things she knew _how_ to do but had never dared. Her husband's _life_ , however... In some ways that too was his concern and his alone, but not when it came to something like this, something that could destroy his name. Anne and the others would likely be safe – Anne was the queen, and if she gave Henry a son then she'd be secure. Mary was settled already, the respected wife of one leading northern lord and the niece of the other. The Seymours weren't blood kin, enough to protect them, most likely.

  
  


But Jacquetta... Cat knew that what her daughter would be was determined by George, by his name never being tarnished. “Do you really want me at court? I imagine you'll find it far easier to slip Mr. Smeaton into your bed if you need not ever worry about visiting mine,” she said, keeping her voice deliberately careless. Her ancestress had once handled a wandering king by being just so cavalier, however she had raged in private.

  
  


Recriminations when discussing infidelity, of any kind, never worked out for the wife. That, at least, was a generally understood truth Cat could make use of to handle her lordling.

  
  


George sputtered, trying to find words. Finally, his shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his hair. “How did you find out?”

  
  


“Tom's wedding. I went looking for you and I saw – you left your bedchamber door open, you fool!” And suddenly she was angry after all, whirling on him and stalking close, glaring up into his face. “If someone else had seen -!”

  
  


“No one was meant to be there!”   
  
“No, but I ended up there, didn't I? What if it had been a servant? Half of them are spies for someone else at court, and I can't think of a reason why any of them would hide your sodomy. Have you no idea of what you risk, not just for yourself but for me? For our daughter, and the children yet to come?”

  
  


George shook his head. “There is no risk. That you saw me was chance, no more than that.”

  
  


“And what of the next chance?”

  
  


“Are you telling me to give Mark up?”

  
  


“Would you do so if I were?”

  
  


The question left them both silent, staring at each other, their daughter making soft baby noises behind them. “I'm not sure I can,” George finally said, turning his head so that he wasn't looking at her. “It has nothing to do with you. I'm quite fond of you, Catherine, I have been since Mary gave us our first chances to get to know one another. It's simply... It is _different_.”

  
  


Cat took a deep breath. She'd hoped he would give Smeaton up, she could admit that in the privacy of her own thoughts. But clearly he would not, or at least currently he would not. She could always hope for him to change his mind later, but for now she sensed that if she pushed for him to stop she would only make matters worse for them all. “Very well,” she said finally, surprised at the steadiness of her own voice. “Keep your fiddler then, it's all the same to me as long as you treat me with respect. Which you have done thus far; I confess my only complaint of you has been distance. And _carelessness_ , George. You are careless and it must stop, for our daughter's sake if you are so reckless with yourself. And think of your lover too – he is a commoner, whatever punishment you might get will be all the worse in his case.”

  
  


“We won't – ”

  
  


“You almost were caught, as I have already said,” Cat said impatiently. “These are my terms, George. You will treat me with respect as your wife, and you will be careful. And I will make _sure_ you are careful. I want to speak to him.”

  
  


“I – what?”

  
  


“Mr. Smeaton. Once all of the fuss over this summit is over, he and I must speak. I won't chase him away from you if that's what you fear. But I will make sure this is an arrangement that will keep us all safe. I clearly cannot trust you to do so.”

  
  


George looks her way again, a scowl on his face. “And if I submit to this?”

  
  


“I'll return to court with you, be the ideal noble wife. I'll do all I can to help your sister, as I have already been doing, and I will... even be cooperative with your lover, as it will help keep us all safe. I will help you hide it if need be, George, because I need it hidden too. So, have we an arrangement?”

  
  


“Have I much choice?”

  
  


“What do you think?”

  
  


<><><>

  
  


“So you're the only one of us who knows anything about the Portuguese court,” Edward said thoughtfully, carding his fingers through Ann's hair. She laughed, settling herself better on his chest. Most couples, curled in bed together, would indulge in love talk, but they both enjoyed this more. Now that the summit was only weeks away, Ann couldn't be surprised that this was the subject of their conversation tonight.

  
  


“I was only there for a few weeks before the king died. In truth, I've always believed Princess Margaret murdered him.”

  
  


“You and half of Europe. But what of then-Prince Manuel?

  
  


It all seemed so long ago now. Ann barely thought of her days in Princess Margaret's household anymore, so she was quiet for a moment as she remembered what she could. Lisbon had been almost unbearably hot, the palace lovely in that graceful Moorish way, the courtiers dismissive of the English interlopers in their midst. But Prince Manuel...

  
  


Tall and well-made, pale eyes striking in a tanned face, several of Margaret's ladies had wondered why their mistress had been married off to a decrepit old king when he had a son and heir who was a grown man and unmarried. But even to the eyes of strangers, it had been clear that the king disregarded his son completely, and as for the son's view of his father...

  
  


“Well, I can tell you that he certainly did not mourn his father. Oh, he said all the right things, did all that was expected, but... It was in his eyes, that he felt not grief but joy. And a certain relief, I think. Ambassador Almeida was his shadow back then – it was a bit odd to see him here in England when he first showed up, honestly – and you could see it in both of them, as though they could finally relax.

  
  


“Did he have a reputation for coldness, or -?”

  
  


“No, he was more ignored than anything else, though even we found him charming and only a few of us had a common language with the man.”

  
  


“Hmm,” Edward said. “And within months of being crowned, he began shocking all of Christendom. A puzzling sort of man.”

  
  


“That is certainly true,” Ann sighs, trailing her fingers over the scar crossing Edward's ribs, got in a sparring match with George, long ago. “Do you think this summit will work?”

  
  


“I don't know,” Edward said, catching her hand and lacing their fingers together. “I do know that Denmark and Sweden are sending envoys, that the King and Queen of Portugal, the King of Scots and the Portuguese princess he's set to marry will be here in person. I know they will all have to acknowledge Anne as queen. So if nothing else it serves our purposes. As to whether the alliances will hold, who can say?”

  
  


“And in the meantime, our King gets to put on quite the show,” Ann quipped. “I've barely seen you or my brother in months, you've been kept so very busy with preparations. Still, it all goes well?”

  
  


“It's nearly done now. The main trouble will be if the Portuguese are delayed. Richmond and the others who will be meeting King James leave in a week, so as long as the ships from Portugal are on time... We should carry everything off. What's stunned me is how useful Tom's been. He took charge of the planning for two of the banquets, and I've never seen him work so hard. Turns out that woman he married is a good match to him after all. I can't think why else he'd have changed so much, anyway.”

  
  


“I've never much liked Jane Parker, but no one can deny the woman's ambitious, and not stupid, if a bit reckless when she lets her heart rule her head. I imagine she found ways to talk him 'round, so she would advance with him.”

  
  


“I wonder how she managed it.”

  
  


Ann laughed, bright and almost wicked, sitting up to straddle Edward and grin down at him. “Oh, I imagine I can think of a few ways. Shall we see if I can persuade _you_ into something, dear husband?”

 


	28. Diplomatic Efforts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three kings, two queens, a future queen, and a duke. Or, welcome to the Anglo-Scots-Portuguese summit.

Fitz shifted a little in his saddle, trying not to show any sort of nerves. It wouldn't do, not in this company. He didn't need to give Surrey anything else to tease him about. Henry Howard was an old friend, true enough, but he seemed to find it hilarious that of all the Howard girls, Fitz had found himself smitten with Kathryn. “She's the least of us, you silly bastard. I could have talked my father into letting you have my sister, you know.”

  
  


Fitz didn't want Mary Howard, though. She was friendly enough and pretty too, but her eyes didn't light up when she smiled the way Kathryn's did. Kathryn was still so... so _herself_ , even after serving the Queen for nearly two years. She didn't have the formal graces of most of the court ladies, even though she was working hard to improve her education. She'd confessed to him that she didn't really enjoy the studying, but she wanted to be like Queen Anne and the Duchess of Suffolk, to whom she was devoted, so she kept at it.

  
  


Fitz understood; he'd rather be hunting or riding or in the practice yards than at his books. Not on the tennis court, though; much as his father loved it Harry had no skill in the sport. But he was a king's son and his father was a scholar as well as an athlete. He had much to live up to, and wanted to be as worthy a son as he could be, even if he was illegitimate and so not a proper heir. He could at least prove himself worthy of holding the titles and posts his father had given him, someone upon whom a future half-brother could rely on, as he had been told his grandfather relied on his uncle Jasper Tudor. To be those things, he had to work at his books even when he did not wish to.

  
  


So they understood each other. And Kathryn made him smile, even on days when he didn't want to. He could relax in her company, as he could not with anyone else. His friends were good companions, of course, but always the strangeness of his position seemed to come between them. With his father he was always on alert, making sure he did nothing that might cause his father shame. With Lady Mary, of course, it was easier because they were both of Tudor blood and in strange places, but he always had to be careful how he phrased things with his easily upset older sister. With Kathryn he could simply be as he was.

  
  


And now was not the time to be dwelling on her, not when he realized he could finally see the Scottish party coming closer. At their head rode a dark-haired, slim young man who could only be King James. There was something familiar in his bearing – it reminded Fitz of his dim memories of his Aunt Margaret, the first Duchess of Suffolk.

  
  


He spurred his horse forward to meet them, the others in the party falling into line behind them. Now that his royal cousin was approaching, Fitz found that his nerves were falling away. He had a duty to do, a goal to achieve in making King James feel welcomed and honored, and there was no room to fret over it. There would already be trouble in convincing James that it was no slight to have the King's bastard son here – it was only that neither of Fitz's sisters _could_ meet their cousin, albeit for very different reasons.

  
  


“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing in the saddle – they were meeting in the middle of nowhere, it would not be expected that he would offer a full-fledged obeisance here. “You are very welcome to England.”

  
  


“Cousin Richmond,” James said with a laugh, eyes dancing. “Well met. Has anyone ever mentioned that you look very like our late uncle Prince Arthur?”

  
  


Fitz blinked, caught off guard. “I – no, it has never been mentioned.”

  
  


“My mother kept a miniature of him, and believe me, you do indeed resemble him. Strange how these things happen, isn't it? Now, who are these others with you?”

  
  


Glad of the return to prescribed formalities – at least he knew where he stood with those – Fitz began the introductions, starting with Lord and Lady Percy, who were of course related to his father through his marriage to Queen Anne. James' smile when he nodded to Percy and kissed Lady Mary's hand was somewhat sardonic if still bright – no wonder, given the long history of tensions between the North of England and Scotland.

  
  


Of course James knew his own sister Frances, though he had never met her husband Henry Grey, who was kin to all of them through Elizabeth of York's Woodville blood. The rest of the company, even Sir Thomas Seymour, drew less attention, though it was Seymour who drew James into talk of ships as they began to travel south. Fitz hated that he was relieved, but he told himself to be practical. What truly mattered was that James was entertained, and if he had more in common with another grown man than a half-grown boy as Fitz knew himself to be, well...

  
  


That was to be expected. And the Queen would be glad that it was her stepbrother who charmed the King of Scots. Fitz was fond enough of his stepmother, because although he could tell he made her uncomfortable, she had never treated him coldly, as his mother's husband did. He made sure never to say so to Mary, of course, who had very good reason to feel quite differently. Mary was a threat in a way that Fitz wasn't, and her treatment was in response to that, wrong as he felt it was.

  
  


But that was a problem Fitz still had no answers to, for all that he did his best to give Mary reasons to submit, and tried to speak kindly of her whenever he was asked. The Queen did not ask, and his father the King had yet to, but Her Grace of Suffolk had taken an interest in Mary. So whenever she asked, Fitz did all he could to emphasize his sister's best qualities, and make justifications for her disobedience. Mostly he blamed the Princess Dowager – he knew Mary loved her mother, but even so Fitz was content to further damage her standing if it meant helping Mary. _She_ was not his family as Mary was, though he supposed that as Prince Arthur's widow she was still his aunt by marriage.

  
  


Shaking off the thoughts when he heard James and Tom Seymour laughing, Fitz applied himself to joining their conversation on types of hunting, which he enjoyed every bit as much as they did. And so the ride to the castle where they would spend the night passed rather pleasantly.

  
  


<><><>

  
  


“The King was supposed to watch Queen Anne's coronation here, in the original plans,” Cromwell told Michael absently as they settled in the high, hidden room. “But then, of course, he changed his mind and chose to join her.” Now, of course, he and Michael were here to observe the procession into London of the Kings of England, Portugal, and Scotland, not to mention Queen Anna and the Infanta Leonor. The whole thing had taken far more work than even he had expected, and the delays from both Edinburgh and Lisbon, mostly due to weather forcing them to postpone their departures, had tried the patience of the King. But it was finally happening, and Cromwell was relieved to sit back and watch, with Michael to keep him company.

  
  


Occasionally, he wondered why the younger man seemed content to be his shadow, unwed and seemingly with no semblance of a separate personal life, but for the most part he was glad of the company. Michael had been beside him for several years now, and Cromwell had not seen even a flicker of disloyalty – while he was not so naive as to trust him completely, he did trust him more than he trusted anyone but those of his family. It was relaxing to be in his company, rather than among the courtiers who detested them both – Cromwell for his low birth, Michael for his illegitimacy.

  
  


And so it was pleasant to sit together and see what they had wrought – for in many ways, it was their work, these pageants and effusive greetings from merchant guilds and townsfolk. Cromwell could have recited the themes of every single pageant, and he knew Michael could as well. Down below, their King Henry rode with King James on his right and King Manuel on his left, Queen Anna and Infanta Leonor directly behind them. The ladies rode sidesaddle, but because they chose opposite sides, they were turned away from each other, each of them facing out at a different side of the crowd. That had been, to his credit, a suggestion of Tom Seymour's, who said that he'd heard Katherine of Aragon's ladies had caused a sensation when the English women and Spanish women had ridden the same way.

  
  


All in all, this procession was going far better than Queen Anne's coronation. While that affair had not been the cold, unpleasant thing they'd feared, assassination attempt aside, the people of London had not been excited that day. They had been curious, some of them even cautiously welcoming of a younger wife for the King who could give him and England a male heir, but there had not been the cheers that had accompanied the King's coronation. The coronation that, of course, he'd shared with his brother's widow. King Henry had not been pleased, though thankfully he had recognized that it was no fault of Cromwell's, despite his stated goal of wanting a coronation that would make the people love Queen Anne.

  
  


This time was different. London had not had a chance to gawk at a foreign royal since the visit of Charles V, and now they had several. Cromwell imagined that even the minor royal personage Philip of Bavaria, cousin to Queen Anna, would draw some attention. The Londoners saw the Portuguese alliance as promising for trade, as the nobility saw it as the renewal of ancient ties, and while the same nobles were not best pleased by a Scottish alliance that seemed to mean fewer excuses to bash Scottish heads, the common folk were happy enough to have one less likely war to fight.

  
  


At the palace, Queen Anne would greet her husband and their guests, and after a time to allow the travelers to freshen up, there would be a welcoming banquet. Cromwell and Michael, as members of the court, were both expected to be there, so they left their little room and hurried back. It would not do to be absent should the King notice.

  
  


<><><>

  
  


Of all the things Anna expected, for Queen Anne to offer greetings in German and Portuguese was certainly not one of them. Admittedly, the English Queen's accent left much to be desired and it was clear that she knew little more than what she'd already said, but Anna appreciated the gesture, although she did not know if Leonor did. In truth, she preferred such simple considerations far more than she had enjoyed their ridiculously elaborate reception in London. King Henry had clearly wished to make a spectacle of this summit, which Anna could understand. But endless tableaux she found hard to follow were tedious, and she could never feel entirely comfortable with large crowds watching her. She had learned to smile brightly and wave, though, and that was all that was needed.

  
  


The smile brought on by Queen Anne's gesture, however, was much more genuine. “Thank you, cousin. I am very glad to be here.” Anna was glad she could return the compliment with one of the handful of English phrases she had been learning. It was politeness, and making a good impression.

  
  


They were off to a good start. The banquet given for them on their first day had been every bit as sumptuous as anyone could expect, and if some of the fare was a bit rougher than that of Portugal, Anna had been reminded of Cleves. The next day had been filled with a pageant, a tennis tournament, and another banquet. Today, the men were beginning to get down to actual discussion of terms, and so the women were left to their own devices.

  
  


Queen Anne had arranged for musicians, but music did not require one to watch those who played, so Anna took the opportunity to observe those around her. As usual, Leonor had her favorite companion Sancha at her side – though she had many attendants of better birth, Leonor never preferred the company of any of them over that of her bastard half-sister. For the most part they listened attentively, though she saw them murmur to each other from time to time. It was typical behavior for them.

  
  


As for her fellow Queen, it was obvious almost immediately how Anne Boleyn had won a King. Though her gaiety did not seem entirely natural, she was a woman of striking coloring and grace. Always close to her was her stepsister, the Duchess of Suffolk, who Anna had noted on the journey from Dover to be a woman of calm serenity, and so she appeared to be when beside her sister as well. But they were like the girls too, murmuring together – and Anna knew that to them, she must seem more girl than woman, closer to her sister-in-law's age than theirs. But like them she was a married woman, like Queen Anne a crowned royal and a mother. It separated her from the girls like Leonor, or the cheerful girl who stepped up to sing in a light trembly voice.

  
  


“Kathryn Howard is a cousin of mine, and my sister's ward,” Anne said quietly in French. “She wished to entertain, and we could not deny her.”

  
  


“I see. She does well enough,” Anna said in the same language. Her French was halting and occasionally clumsy, but serviceable. She had studied it on her father's insistence when he'd decided on the match with Manuel, although when her brother had taken control he had halted the lessons. Once she'd arrived in Lisbon, her focus had been on learning Portuguese but as she improved in it Anna had sought to renew her knowledge of French. It was useful now. “Tell me of your daughter Elizabeth,” she prompted when the girl had finished singing.

  
  


Anne's face lit up, and if she had been striking before, she was entirely captivating now with true joy in her eyes. “She's so sweet and clever. You'll think it a mother's prejudice, talking of a girl not yet two, but she truly is advanced. She has learned more words every time I see her, and she's the most affectionate child. Henry – he says she will be a beauty, that she looks like his mother. And your son, Miguel?”

  
  


Anna laughed. “Oh, he worries me so. He is only months older than your daughter, and from the moment he learned to walk he decided he would rather run. I trust his governess and attendants to look after him, but I know he finds ways to get into everything he can reach, because he does so with me. Manuel says it is a sign of health, but it can be so alarming. But he is my darling boy.”

  
  


They talked of their children and their siblings – Anna did not wish to discuss her brother, but she had pleasant stories of Sybilla and Amelia to share. Lady Jane chimed in when her sister told stories she too had been a part of. The two women were pleasant company, and their quiet day, a welcome respite, passed in enjoyable conversation.

  
  


<><><>

  
  


This, Manuel sensed, was his moment. They had been talking out the terms of the treaties for two days, after two days of pure revelry – and even these days of business were interspersed with entertainments – and he thought he had the measure of his fellow kings. James was young and eager to make his mark, much like Manuel himself – in fact, they were close in age. But for the Scot, a king since his infancy but plagued by overbearing regents that had included his stepfather, he was determined to prove he was a King in truth now.

  
  


As for King Henry, well. He was bellicose and arrogant, and as much as he knew he needed allies Manuel suspected he hated his vulnerability. At the same time he was convinced of his own rightness, and just as determined as his nephew to be forever remembered.

  
  


That kinship was another thread in the talks. Neither James nor Henry could forget the long history of strife between their countries, that James' father had died trying to invade England, that he himself was by the strictest line of inheritance Henry's nearest male heir. It lay under every word the two men exchanged, and Manuel watched them carefully.

  
  


It was James who finally said, “What is the point of all this? A new alliance to change the face of Europe, your ambassador said. I don't see what it will do,” he demanded of Manuel. Henry watched silently, eyes narrowed. Clearly, he too wanted answers. But this was Manuel's lifelong goal. He knew exactly what to say, and what angles to use.

  
  


“Are you not tired of being nothing but a pawn, cousin? It killed your father.”

  
  


“His father died invading my realm.”

  
  


“My father died because the damned Howards and the Spanish bitch you called wife back then –“

  
  


“James IV thought himself bound to his longtime allies, the French, yes?” Manuel cut in smoothly. “But Louis of France, king at the time, cruelly used him, having his wife declare him her knight.” Manuel had gathered all the information of the time that he could, and he knew of what he spoke. “He tricked him, used him, much as Maximilian and Ferdinand took advantage of your youthful idealism, cousin,” he added to Henry. “Much as Emperor Charles now thinks he can command me and direct the futures of my sisters because my father let the Spaniards dominate him.”

  
  


Henry stirred, looking displeased, but he could hardly argue that he had been played for a fool in those days – he would likely say ill-used – because he himself had said he was betrayed, and sought to marry his sister Margaret to Louis when he became a widower. Perhaps lucky for her, he had died before the marriage could be finalized, which had led instead to her shockingly brief marriage to Manuel's own father.

  
  


He was all but certain she had killed him. A pity she was now dead herself; he owed her a debt of gratitude.

  
  


When neither man raised a furious objection, Manuel continued. “And because of their machinations, look at the pair of you. You are uncle and nephew, you ought to be close, trusted allies of each other. That was the point of the Tudor-Stewart marriage, was it not? Ending the strife between England and Scotland? But because of the old games, you have continued as rivals in defiance of your kinship.” He looked at Henry. “You learned, and became quite clever in exploiting how France and the Emperor sought to make you a pawn in their feuds, but it only goes so far. To break free of them, to forge a new path, it truly will change everything.”

  
  


“But there is little room to spread our influence,” Henry said, thoughtful.

  
  


“Unless you propose we take to colonizing Africa and the New World, as you do, but then you and the Spanish have taken all that was worthwhile,” James added.

  
  


“Have we? Until Cristobal Colon found the New World, we did not even know the continent existed, much less what there was of value. We have taken much in the south, but the north remains. And there is still land left in Africa, and in the East.”

  
  


“Much of the East is already developed, not savage land to be conquered,” James countered.

  
  


“But there is trade to be had there, I'm told,” Henry said, and Manuel could have grinned. Of course – Henry's lowborn chief minister would know all about trade options, and his righthand man Michael Stanhope was closer to Cristovao than Manuel truly wished to know about. He knew of his cousin's proclivities, and could well guess. “I have never seen much use in maintaining colonies – too much risk for too little gain, in many cases, but new markets would be welcome here.”

  
  


“Exactly. And I hope to interest the Scandinavian states as well – the King of Denmark, at least, has no love for the Emperor. We cannot defeat the great powers alone, but together we can at least prevent them from using us as they see fit.”

  
  


He had them. Not yet, he could see that – among other things, he knew that James, under the influence of his Cardinal Beaton, was uncomfortable with his uncle's schism and with Manuel's own choice to end the Inquisition and the banishment of Jews and Moors, as well as his refusal to persecute the curious group of Indian Christians his explorers had come into contact with. Henry, of course, found Manuel's choices odd but possibly useful, or so Cris said, likely hoping to talk Manuel into a similar schism. And, if the Pope continued to scold him, it might in future even become an option.

  
  


There were technical problems of dowries and conditions to settle, for which their ministers would rejoin the conversation. But he could feel it already. He had enough of what he wanted to start with. The rest would follow.

  
  


<><><>

  
  


Philip had been happy to be invited on the ride from Whitehall to Hatfield, not because he was particularly interested in seeing the little girl who would marry Anna's son one day, but because it would give him a chance to see the English countryside. Like his queenly cousin, Philip enjoyed a good adventure – he considered it the only true blessing of being a younger son with no true inheritance. He had a freedom that Henry Otto would never have.

  
  


  
  


“You seem to know this route well,” he remarked to the Duke of Richmond. Richmond was King Henry's bastard son, but honored almost as a prince at court – though not so much as his birth and earliest years had been, it was said. The English queen was highly strung, and given the questionable nature of their marriage, the king did not wish to cause more trouble by overemphasizing the rank of his son. Still, he held a prominent place at court.

  
  


  
  


“I often ride to Hatfield.” Richmond paused, looking around and then lowering his voice. “I visit my sisters,” he explained. “My elder half-sister Mary is here in service to the Princess Elizabeth.”

  
  


Philip raised his eyebrows. “That is an unusual arrangement,” he said diplomatically. Actually, it was very nearly unheard of, so far as he knew – generally, acknowledged royal bastards were married off or pushed into church positions, sometimes included in the households of legitimate siblings as companions when the ages were close, but for one to _serve_ another so outright...

  
  


Of course, these were far from typical circumstances, he knew. The Lady Mary's treatment, like her mother's, was undoubtedly meant to send a message to them and all those who might support them. But it was a little worrying, wasn't it, that the King of England could be so harsh with a woman he'd called wife for twenty years and his firstborn child? What did it say of the man, and what did it mean for his potential as an ally?

  
  


Not that Manuel would care, or Elector John Frederick for that matter. It was very likely King James, who had chosen not to join this outing in favor of staying at Whitehall, where he could spend time with Leonor under the eye of Queen Anne, would not much care either. Any one of them would turn on the others if need be, after all. Philip was a useful diplomat, charming enough to win people over to the arguments he made, but he didn't have the cool calculation to be anything more. He was glad of it.

  
  


  
  


“Yes, it is,” Richmond agreed, drawing him from his thoughts. “My father thinks it best, however, and it is not for me to question him. But they are both my family, and both worthy of my regard as a brother. So I visit them. Elizabeth is a sweet child, though I suspect she gets into far more mischief than the governess would want the king and queen to know. She's far too intelligent for her age – it makes her hard to keep up with.”

  
  


That made Philip laugh. “Then, if they both carry on that way, she and little Miguel should get on famously. He is always into something, that boy. And your elder sister? What is she like?”

  
  


Richmond looked surprised to be asked. “Loyal to a fault, clever, stubborn and strong. I wish she was at court with us, but that is not to be until she can bring herself to accept our father's decrees.” He paused, clearing his throat. “And what of your family, Duke Philip?” he continued, a clear sign that he wished to leave this subject of conversation. Philip couldn't blame him, not when King Henry was in earshot, so he went along with it, easily shifting the conversation to talk of his brother and Anna's siblings.

  
  


At Hatfield, they were duly presented with the toddler princess, who was coached through a wobbly curtsey by her governess, then swept up into her father's arms. She seemed to welcome this, though her small face didn't truly light up until she spotted her brother. Philip bit the tip of his tongue to keep from laughing.

  
  


He left the main party as little Princess Elizabeth was staring curiously at Manuel and Anna, ostensibly to check on his horse, who had thrown a shoe just as they entered the courtyard. In truth, he just wanted to be free of formalities for a moment. For being something of a backwater, the court of England was one of the most rigid that Philip had ever encountered. He supposed it was a way for King Henry to keep his noble subjects in line, but it got tiresome.

  
  


Leaving the stables, Philip heard a creaking hinge and looked up to see a window opening. A young woman leaned out as if she looked for someone, her soft brown hair falling past her shoulders. She saw him and Philip doffed his cap, inclining his head as he would to any pretty girl, especially one who looked so very sad.

  
  


It wasn't until she'd ducked back inside at the sight of his action, the window shutting with a clatter, that he realized she was almost certainly the Lady Mary.

  
  


<><><>

  
  


“My aunt once made this journey,” Leonor said absently as Sancha finished brushing out her hair. Sancha clucked her tongue as she gathered Leonor's auburn hair, plaiting it for bed. Their eyes – identical grey, like those of the father they shared – met in the mirror. Sancha was one of her father's bastards, born within days of Leonor herself, and of all her siblings, this almost-twin who was her constant companion was by far her favorite. Isabella and Beatriz had been too much older, grand ladies married off when she was still a girl, and as for Manuel...

  
  


She was far more fond of her brother than her sisters were, their every letter reminding her that Manuel was not truly one of them, his mother being of relatively humble stock. But she wouldn't have called them close. He was too much older than she, and by the time she was old enough to be more than a mere child to him, he was King and occupied with serious business more often than not. But there was a spark in him she recognized as the same fire that had drawn her and Sancha to each other, for all that one was a princess and the other bastard-born.

  
  


Her other sisters wouldn't have understood, and Leonor didn't bother to explain. One last letter from Isabella had arrived just before they embarked on the voyage to England, and Leonor had read it aloud to Sancha, exasperated. Thinking about it now irritated her all over again. “My aunt once made this journey,” she repeated, “and now she languishes in an isolated castle, her one-time husband likely hoping the neglect will kill her sooner rather than later. I've a cousin I once wrote letters to – not often, but now and then, after my aunt wrote to my sisters and me on the death of our mother – who is now acting as a maidservant to her baby half-sister. The one my nephew is to marry one day. And I'm to marry some northern savage.”

  
  


“At least it's one in King Francis' eye?” Sancha suggested with a sly smile. “Wasn't King James supposed to marry a Frenchwoman? And you don't fool me, my royal sister. We both know you hope he's a savage who will let you run wild. You've always liked adventure, Leonor. I'm to believe this doesn't excite you? As for your aunt and cousin, maybe you can help them through this marriage.”

  
  


“Unlikely. My older sisters seem to think I should have refused somehow. Because the head of my house is the Emperor Charles.”

  
  


“No, he isn't. King Manuel is.”

  
  


“Tell Isabella and Beatriz that,” Leonor said dryly. “You're right, of course. Scotland will probably suit me far better than a more sophisticated court, except for what I've heard is dreadful weather. Oh, and the King likes his mistresses, apparently, just as my father did. He brought the eldest of his bastard sons with him!”

  
  


Sancha was silent, but Leonor knew that her words were no insult to her. Their own brothers from the wrong side of the blanket had been shunted off to ecclesiastical or colonial posts; even despising Manuel their father had known a bastard son was a potential danger in a way a bastard daughter was not. Which was one reason why Sancha served her. The other, of course, was that to make a bastard sister Leonor's closest companion was an insult that had upset her mother, and King Luis had been angry this last child was yet another useless girl, the two boys between Beatriz and Leonor having died in their first days of life.

  
  


“You are a princess born of all three of the royal lines of Iberia,” Sancha said after a moment. “His bastards won't hold a candle to your children. And as for mistresses... What man would want to look away from you?”

  
  


_A man who looked at you_ , Leonor thought. She herself had the same wavy auburn hair and pretty features that she'd been told made her aunt Juana such a beauty, and a tall slender form from her father's female kin. Sancha was built much the same way, though, while her face was angular and her hair a sleek curtain of black. Manuel joked from time to time that they both were born to break men's hearts, and Leonor thought it was true. But these were silly, pointless thoughts, she decided as she curled up under the bedcovers, Sancha next to her as always. She needed the warmth; it was cool here for spring, and Scotland would be cooler yet...

  
  


“Well, at least he is attractive,” Sancha said dryly, and that much was certainly true. “And you need your rest. Tomorrow you are publicly betrothed to your northern savage, and it would never do to look tired.”

  
  


“Oh, you think you're so clever,” Leonor said dryly, but she burrowed down in her blankets and furs all the same, Sancha beside her.

  
  


“Sancha?” she whispered in the dark. “What if I could keep his attention on me – and on those who are friends to me when he looks away?”

  
  


The next morning, Leonor wore a beautiful gown of cloth of silver, her future husband in crimson as they plighted their troth before the English court and those of the Scottish and Portuguese courts who had traveled with their monarchs. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Cranmer, blessed them, as did the priests who had accompanied the travelers – since England was not Catholic, this was necessary, but as host country, the blessing of the highest cleric of England was also needed.

  
  


“I think you and I could enjoy one another very much, my infanta,” James murmured in her ear as they stepped back for King Henry and Leonor's brother, who stood in proxy for their children as a second pledge of marriage was made.

  
  


“I hope so, my lord – I hear your country is much colder than mine, I will need to keep warm,” she told him, deciding to respond to his flirtation in kind. There was no shame in it, not with her betrothed. In truth, they were essentially wed now, with only consummation needed, but James had specified he did not wish to be completely wed until they were in his dominion.

  
  


“As a husband, it will be my responsibility to protect you from danger and cold winds alike,” James said, but Leonor noticed his eyes flick to where Sancha stood among the attendants. Sancha only raised her eyebrows and looked at Leonor, a glint in her eyes.

  
  


It couldn't be that easy, could it?

  
  


<><><>

  
  


Henry was pleased when the summit closed. Elizabeth was officially betrothed, two kings having acknowledged her as legitimate, while Anne had done him proud as his Queen by acting with perfect courtesy, even learning greetings in German and Portuguese in order to be more welcoming. Every entertainment had gone off well – there may have been fumbles but they were so well-concealed if so that even Henry did not know of them. He'd given his people a spectacle, and this time they had shown their enjoyment of it.

  
  


He liked Manuel and even his nephew James had been tolerable company. While he privately thought Manuel's goals impossible to achieve, the alliance was useful, and new trade routes appealed. It would help when tensions with the Emperor made ties to Flanders uncomfortable. As of now, he could not risk that without backlash from his subjects, but perhaps he could change that. So he could indulge a younger fellow monarch with wild dreams – he had been such once, as Manuel had had the nerve to point out. Henry would have been angrier about it, save that he was impressed by the directness of it.

  
  


As for James, getting the measure of his nephew had been a strange thing. The young man reminded him of his mother Mary, passionate and heedless, but determined to leave a mark in a way Henry recognized as something they shared – the inheritance of his father, who must have been similar as a young man for all he became stern and unimaginative as an old man. After all, if he had not been so, would he have dared challenge the House of York? Perhaps his pretty wife would temper him. If not, well... They would see, wouldn't they? There were talks for his bastard, also called James, to marry Edward and Ann Seymour's daughter Margery, and it was perhaps a pity that he had no bastard daughters of a convenient age for Henry's son.

  
  


Although, speaking of his son...

  
  


There was one problem with the summit, and that had been Hatfield. Not Elizabeth's presentation, that had gone well, but Mary. Mary who had dared to watch them depart from a window above, drawing attention to herself as if she were a victim and not wholly responsible for her own suffering. And now he was well aware that his son, who went by Fitz these days, had visited her regularly.

  
  


He meant to find out why.

  
  


Summoning his son before him, Henry wasted no time. “I'm told that when you go to Hatfield to visit the Princess Elizabeth, you spend a great deal of time with the Lady Mary. Why is that?” he asked, his voice cool.

  
  


Fitz was silent for a moment, but when he spoke up Henry could see the sincerity in him. “Forgive me if I overstepped, Your Majesty,” he began with a sheepish smile. “I merely wished to get to know both of my sisters.”

  
  


Henry was not soothed. “Mary is a defiant, disloyal girl, and not fit company for an obedient child,” he said flatly, suddenly wondering if putting her with Elizabeth, accessible to both visitors and her younger sister, had been wise. He knew Anne had been less than comfortable with the idea, although the clear indication of which daughter was a princess had certainly comforted her.

  
  


His son was shaking his head. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I think that, in your justified anger with Mary, you misunderstand what has happened. Her mother has misled her. She told her to stand fast against all force. She has earned punishment, but her mother told her to see it as a trial that will strengthen her, has all but told her to embrace martyrdom.”

  
  


There was an edge of anger in the boy's voice now; because of Katherine's lies to Mary? “Go on,” Henry said. Mary was a problem, and her submission would be a welcome thing. Henry had thought to teach her her true place with service to Elizabeth, but soe far it had not worked. It would not make things worse to listen to what his son had to say – although from no one else would he have accepted the declaration that he did not understand Mary's unfilial defiance.

  
  


“Mary was always close to her mother, and not being able to see her has not broken that bond. So she trusts that Princess Katherine is telling her the truth, that all of this happened because you – forgive me, but Mary has been told that you are bespelled by Queen Anne, and but for that never would have set Princess Katherine aside nor declared Mary illegitimate. Mary cannot hear the truth, even from you, because she cannot look at this with clear eyes. But I speak gently to her, with no motive to make her do one thing or another, and so she hears me out. I think she begins to listen. I wish only to fight the Princess's harmful influence so that Mary can come to see the truth and, I hope, be allowed to take her rightful place as your natural daughter as I am your natural son.”

  
  


Henry drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I sent Mary to Hatfield so that she would learn her place. You considered it wise to defy me?”

  
  


“That was never my intent. I only wished to know her, since I am not close to my mother's other children and while Elizabeth is a sweet child she is too young as yet for us to be friends.”

  
  


“Very well. You have done nothing wrong, boy. And I am Father, not Your Majesty.” It bothered him when a child of his was as formal as he had been with his father in later years, when the never easily affectionate Henry VII had become downright cold.

  
  


“Yes, Father. Do you wish me to stop seeing Mary?”

  
  


“I have yet to decide. You may go.”

  
  


With his son gone, Henry left his study and found himself pacing the gardens. What to do with Mary? Sending her to Hatfield had not given him what he wanted from her – if Fitz was to be believed, he had only seemed to confirm Katherine's dire warnings. Damn her! Why could she not leave their daughter alone, allow Mary to think for herself? Surely if she had she would have seen the rightness of Henry's actions. If Mary would only submit, her life would be a privileged one – she would rank behind only Anne and Elizabeth, the second woman at court given Elizabeth's tender years.

  
  


She was too much like Katherine to see it. But Henry had been harsh with Katherine for years, and punishment had not shown her the error of her ways. He could treat Mary far worse than he currently did, but would it be any more effective? Not to mention, if he changed Mary's situation in such a way, the current protests lodged by Chapuys would certainly become more frequent.

  
  


If he removed her from Elizabeth's household to place her in her own, as Katherine was... The trouble there would be enforcing her bastard status without her legitimate sister before her, Mary forced to give way to Elizabeth on a regular basis. It would require the right, trustworthy guardian, someone he could rely upon who he knew did not sympathize with Katherine and Mary – Charles would not do, for Henry knew that while his best friend was loyal, he looked warmly on Katherine and Mary. Even if he did not, he was Anne's brother-in-law, and that too made him unacceptable. Henry could not have someone too closely tied to Anne in charge of Mary, or he risked rumors of what such a person might do.

  
  


Something had to be done. But what?

 


	29. A Thousand Dreams, I Still Believe

It was the first time Henry and Anne planned to go to Hatfield together. Henry had done so deliberately, for more than one reason. He found he enjoyed Anne's company more than he had recently. Her fury over his mistresses, her demands to know where he was going when he was innocently hunting – or not so innocently seeking brief trysts, as was his right – and their lack of a son had turned him bitter. She had promised him a son, and all he had was a new daughter, troubles in his realm and abroad, and a shrewish wife. But during the summit she had impressed him with her determination to be a gracious hostess to their royal guests, the extra effort shown in her gestures of learning greetings in Portuguese, German, and even Scots, which sounded something like English yet was not English at all.

  
  


It had reminded him that perhaps he was too hard on her. Yes, Anne had grace and charm that befitted a Queen, but she had not been born royal. If she did not always act with the calm serenity of a Queen, it was not her fault. She tried, he had to admit that. And perhaps he had expected too much, too soon. He could remember how woefully unprepared he had felt upon first becoming his father's heir, and he at least had been raised a prince, if only a second son. It had not been enough preparation for a future as a King, but it was far more than Anne had been given. The six years of their engagement had been a battle, not a chance to prepare for their future, and now she was having to learn as she went.

  
  


He had to remember that. And, since he had news before they left which she might not take well, he reminded himself to be even warmer than usual when they met in the yard, settling on their horses. They passed the first hour of the ride in pleasant talk, before Henry turned his horse off the road and beckoned Anne to join him. “My lord?” she asked, expression puzzled.

  
  


“We must speak, Anne, and I wish for privacy.” He reined up beside her. “I intend to speak privately with Mary today, while we are at Hatfield.”

  
  


To his surprise, Anne mostly kept her composure, though she could not hide how her face paled or the sudden tears swimming in her eyes. “I see. May I ask what you will speak to her about?”

  
  


“I will urge her to throw off the malign influence of her mother and take the Oath, and so return herself to favor.” Henry, in spite of his good intentions to treat Anne better, now let his voice and face harden. “If she does, I will want her at court with us sooner rather than later, third lady in the realm after you and our daughter. I expect you to welcome her as you have my son.” At Anne's nod, he continued. “If she is still obstinate, I will be ordering her removal from Elizabeth's household.”

  
  


Anne took a deep breath and let it out. “If you do that, what is to stop her from acting just like her mother and insisting on being called Princess? Katherine has been willing to all but starve herself – I hear she has Lady Darrell cook her pitiful little meals on the hearth in her room, rather than be served by the staff who refuse to call her anything but Princess Dowager. Could you really stand to let your daughter live in such a state?”

  
  


Henry's jaw clenched. “What Katherine chooses to do is none of my concern,” he snapped, those good intentions of his wavering. “And I will thank you not to call me weak, madam.”

  
  


“I did not mean that, Henry,” Anne said quickly, and Henry thought he saw a flash of fear in her eyes before it vanished. “It would be to your credit as a father to be unable to bear such a thing, not an insult. It is a valid concern. Mary is stubborn, and she will do as Katherine has given half a chance. I never cared for her with Elizabeth, I admit it worried me from the beginning, but at least I know that Lady Bryan, as my father's half-sister, would never let her get away with such pretensions.”

  
  


“And she will not do so at Woodstock,” Henry said brusquely. “I will be placing her in the care of Lord Rivers and his wife. I am certain I can trust my dear friend and indeed, distant cousin, if you recall, to handle Mary.”

  
  


Anne nodded. “I am sure you are right, my lord. Forgive me.”

  
  


Henry let out a sharp sigh. “You worry for Elizabeth, it is understandable. And you made me proud during the summit. But you must come to accept that I know how to handle Mary, and she will learn her place. Do you understand?”

  
  


“Yes, of course,” Anne said with a smile Henry knew was not a true one, but she was trying and he could accept it for now. “But we will spend time with Elizabeth? Both of us?”

  
  


“After I speak with Mary.” He might well need the comfort of the simple joy little Elizabeth's precocious cheerfulness gave him after he spoke to his elder daughter. He could not tell Anne the truth, for it would only frighten her more. He missed Mary, very much. She had been his first child to survive, and though she was neither legitimate nor a boy, she would always _be_ the first. It meant she held a special place in his heart that not even a prince could fill, and Elizabeth surely did not, though she was his little jewel. Mary was his pearl, and he wanted her back.

  
  


When he'd first dreamed of marrying Anne, he had pictured them with their son, a bright sturdy boy, and a daughter as lovely as her mother. But he had also dared to picture Mary and Fitzroy with them, his son teaching his younger brother how to use his toy sword, Mary playing games with her little sister. He still wanted that ideal image, and he needed Mary to give up her defiant claims – the alternative was the risk of civil war and that could not be allowed to happen.

  
  


Mary would bend. She would, because if she did not, Henry could only allow her defiance to go unchecked for so long.

  
  


At Hatfield, Lady Bryan was clearly flustered by their surprise visit – while Henry had arranged things with Anne, he had made sure that no one at Hatfield was prepared for their arrival – and with the eyes of one who could recall his own minders hurriedly neatening things in advance of a royal visit, could tell that the bustling servants were rushing about to do just that. It almost amused him, but in truth his mood was too uncertain for that.

  
  


When his demanded guide, a young maidservant, led him to Mary's chamber, Henry was briefly startled by how small it was. He had ordered that Mary not be housed with any estate, but he had not truly pictured it. It saddened him that his daughter was here, but it was by her own choice.

  
  


For her part, Mary scrambled from her single chair, sinking into a low curtsey, her skirts spread about her. “Your Majesty,” she said, head bowed as was proper – though she darted looks up at him through her lashes, trying to read his face. Henry schooled his features to neutrality, although it was nearly impossible to do so. “Rise, Mary,” he ordered, voice calm rather than gentle. As she did so, he found he was studying her intently. When he had bowed to her from the stable yard, on his very first visit to the infant Elizabeth, she had been too far to see clearly. But now...

  
  


He could still remember Katherine as she had been when she first came to England to marry Arthur, and his childish infatuation with the pretty Infanta. Mary's features were a blend rather than looking primarily a Tudor or a Spaniard, but her every move carried the grace and surety of that young Infanta. It wasn't – he did not miss Katherine. But he found that a part of him missed the simplicity of his boyish feelings, his straightforward life as Duke of York. And worse, much worse, was that his little Mary was a woman now, fully and completely, and he had missed it. Because of Katherine and the lies she had filled Mary's head with, he had missed the last years of her growing.

  
  


In that moment he thought he might hate her for that more than anything else.

  
  


“You've grown into a beautiful young woman, my Lady Mary,” he began, not missing her flinch at the title he used for her. “Our long separation grieves me.”

  
  


“It grieves me as well, Your Majesty,” Mary replied, chin lifted slightly in yet another reminder of Katherine. “It grieves me even more that you and my mother the Queen are separated, and most of all that you are separated from our Holy Mother Church.”

  
  


Henry's jaw clenched. This was not a promising beginning. “I have freed the English Church from the false dominance of the Pope, Mary. This is something all the faithful of England should rejoice in,” he told her sternly. “As they should rejoice in my now having a true wife and Queen for the first time in my reign.”

  
  


Mary shook her head, hard enough that a few locks of hair escaped the pins that confined it. “She is not your Queen. Father, please. You know that my mother is the true Queen and I am your true daughter, the Princess of Wales. She has convinced you otherwise, but you must know the truth in your heart!”

  
  


At first, Henry's anger was lessened by Mary's wide, earnest eyes, glittering with tears, the faint pleading note in her voice even as she stood firm in her belief. As firm as Henry could ask a child of his to stand, if only it were a belief in something true. But then she said he had been convinced by Anne, and - “Do you think me a fool to be led around by a woman, any woman? Anne is my wife but she does not rule me, girl, and she never has! Your mother was my brother's wife and never truly mine, and _you_ are a bastard.”

  
  


“My mother is the Queen, and your Concubine is a heretic. Please, Father, return to your marriage and the Papal fold,” Mary said, sinking to her knees. “You still can, you would be welcomed as the prodigal son.”

  
  


Henry stared at her, reminded of Katherine sinking to her knees before him at the trial of Blackfriars. And yet... Fitzroy had told him that Mary simply trusted her mother had told him the truth, and Henry could detect only sorrow and honest conviction in Mary. It infuriated him, but it also decided his course. Steady belief such as this could not be changed by punishment, and clearly Mary was not yet ready to listen calmly to the full truth. In time, perhaps she would be, and Henry could combat Katherine's poison with reality. But not now. Now he needed to be firm and unyielding, but also change strategy.

  
  


“You are an ungrateful and unfilial bastard child,” he told Mary, voice cold and harsh. “I no longer wish you to serve the Princess Elizabeth, for fear of your influence upon the innocent child. You will be moved to another residence as soon as may be arranged, and I will not see or speak to you again before you take the Oath.”

  
  


He did not wait for a response, but turned and left the room.

  
  


<><><>

  
  


They had begun sharing a bed. Young Edward had been ill over the winter, highlighting the need for a second son, and at any rate, Jane wanted a child. At some point, she supposed, her husband must have either realized he wasn't likely to be able to annul the marriage by the time he might have a chance – or he had heard that the sheets were stained with blood the night after their wedding. So she and Brandon were now man and wife in truth.

  
  


It was... pleasant enough, physically. And if Jane never really desired his company at night, she didn't find it objectionable. As Mary had once said, Brandon was skilled at love, and she learned to do things that he enjoyed in bed as well. It was only fair, and she didn't mind it, as such. Bodies were designed to enjoy sexual acts, and her body was no different than any other woman's. It was only that it still didn't move her, as it seemed to move most of court. She still didn't understand the craving and the recklessness that desire drove many to.

  
  


But it didn't really matter. Things were what they were, and she knew well that if her husband wanted a wanton lover in bed, he would seek one out. He had been doing so all their marriage, and had been discreet enough that she wasn't shamed. She was lucky, she knew, because her husband's infidelities did not tax her as the king's did Anne's, or whatever it was that had befallen George and Cat's marriage. No one knew what it was, only that _something_ had happened.

  
  


So far, Jane showed no signs of pregnancy, but she wasn't unduly worried. Edward had recovered well, after all, so there was not much pressure on her. She wanted children but was sure they would come with time, and in the meanwhile she had her stepchildren. Eleanor was settled in at court now, accepted into the circle of younger courtiers that circled around the Duke of Richmond, one that also included young Kathryn Howard, Eleanor's younger Douglas cousin Margaret, and Jane's niece Alyce Percy. The four girls were fast friends, which Jane felt did Eleanor a world of good. Meanwhile, one of her own favored attendants was her bastard-born stepdaughter Sarah.

  
  


All of her household were bustling now, of course, as was Jane herself as her sister's chief attendant. The royal progress was coming, and Anne was both more cheerful and more strained than usual. Jane understood why. Her sister was relieved that Lady Mary would be leaving Elizabeth's household, but at the same time worried that Henry removing her would lead to his softening toward her. She was elated by her success at the summit – two kings, a queen, and a princess about to become a queen had all treated her as one of them – but still frightened by her lack of a son.

  
  


To get away from London would do her good, Jane thought, and she said as much when she found Anne alone, pacing her bedchamber. “I suppose so,” Anne admitted, twisting one of the rings on her hands. “Cat's brought me a tonic.”

  
  


“What?”

  
  


“A tonic. She says it helped her get pregnant, that it encourages conception. She says to mix it in my wine so no one knows I'm drinking it, just as an extra measure toward getting a prince. You know, they used to say the Woodville women were witches, just like they now say of me.”

  
  


“You should pour it out and get rid of the bottle,” Jane said firmly. “No good can come from that sort of thing, and I have to think less of Cat's good sense in giving it to you.”

  
  


“Do you?” Anne asked, looking over her shoulder. “What id it works?”

  
  


“Do you want a prince born from herbs? From something an enemy could call witchcraft?” Jane hissed, throwing up her hands in frustration. “What would the king say?”

  
  


  
  


“The king may have softened toward me again recently, but I have no reason to think he won't soon go back to his harem in the woods, wherever he's got it, or some slut at court,” Anne snapped. “When he does, he'll come to my bed less and less, and my chances of conceiving go down. At this point, I will take what help I can get. And anyway, our little niece was born from these herbs, or so Cat tells me, and there's nothing wrong with Jacquetta.”

  
  


Jane scowled. “I don't think this is a good idea, Anne.”

  
  


Anne shook her head hard, and grabbed Jane's arm, drawing her over to the window. They looked down at the gardens together, as Anne spoke in a low, tense voice. “Katherine came from fertile stock, and you and I both know that if a lack of boys _really_ meant God's displeasure, no bastard boy would ever be born, only bastard girls or dead babies. But Henry believes his lack of sons from her was proof of sin, and he will believe it again. But a second successful pregnancy, even with another daughter, will make him hopeful that a son will be next, that I am still fertile. So for me, even another girl that lives is better than she did, and a promising sign. I need a boy, but most of all I need another pregnancy that ends with a living baby because another girl will buy me _time_. If I miscarry again, or do not conceive at all, then he will see us as cursed.”

  
  


Jane could not argue with that. Katherine had been given many years, but the king had been younger then, less fearful of his dynasty's future. The years of loss with Katherine, the years of waiting for Anne, these had taken their toll on a man who did not have much in the way of patience. Another girl would disappoint him, but if the baby lived, they could do as Ann had done with the first miscarriage, and turn it to at least less of a negative. Henry's own mother had been the eldest of three girls before she had a brother, and Anne's Howard relations had scores of both boys and girls among them. A second miscarriage could not be explained away as the first had been, nor could the lack of any pregnancy at all.

  
  


So finally she nodded. “Don't get rid of it then. But for God's sake be careful, Anne.”

  
  


“I intend to be.”

  
  


<><><>

  
  


Fitz enjoyed going on progress. They were in the west country this year, somewhere he hadn't gotten to see before, and there was always something to do. A hunt, a new house to visit, something. He liked to see the people turn out, and was relieved to see that most of them showed no vocal disapproval of Queen Anne. Nothing would be more likely to turn his father's mood dark than that. Fitz had not been at the coronation, but his friend Surrey had, and had told him all about it.

  
  


But nothing like that happened as they turned from the Thames proper to its tributary the Evenlode, and Fitz decided that what he liked very best about the progress was the chance for privacy. Oh, it wasn't constant, or certain, but when everyone was in the middle of a hunt, it was easy enough to slip away for one's own purposes. Which was how he ended up racing with Kathryn Howard, the both of them laughing as the trees flew by.

  
  


When they stopped, they picketed the horses where they could graze and settled under a tree, sharing bread and cheese and a skin of wine. “We're heading for Bristol, did you know?” he asked her after washing down a piece of cheese with a sip of wine. “I've never seen it, but they say as a city it's second only to London. It should be interesting.”

  
  


“I think almost anyplace is interesting,” Kathryn laughed. “I never knew anywhere but Lambeth until Her Grace rescued me – oh, I mean, took me into her household.”

  
  


“Rescued you?” Fitz asked, sitting up and narrowing his eyes. He didn't like to think of Kathryn needing to be rescued from somewhere that should be her home. And yet, he could still, dimly, remember how uncomfortable it had been to live in the home of his mother's husband. He didn't remember much more than that, given how young he had been when his father had given him his household, but the memory lingered, made his stomach knot. Made him determined to keep working on both Mary and his father, to make his royal family as happy as possible.

  
  


Had Kathryn's childhood held similar ghosts?

  
  


Kathryn shrugged, looking sheepish. “It was not... If you ask cousin Surrey, he'll probably admit Lambeth is, well. No better than a brothel. I was too young yet, to be caught in anyone's toils, but I saw things, and... I know it was only a matter of time. But the Duchess took me from there, and brought me here. I am always grateful to her, and the Queen for taking me under her wing.” She smiled then, and hurried to continue as if to erase her earlier words. “Queen Anne says if I keep progressing on my reading and writing in English, I should be able to learn to at least speak French from her and the Duchess soon.”

  
  


He understood. How could he not? “I was very little when I left my stepfather's home,” he said gently. “But my father rescued me, from a man who I recall did not like me one bit. I don't remember much else of what it was to live under his roof, only that I feel ill when I try. I do understand, Kathryn, in my way. As I understand so much about you. I think – that is – I have always felt that we do. Understand each other. Quite well, in fact.” He sounded like an utter fool. Had his father ever felt like this, with the Queen or even the Princess Dowager, who they said he had truly adored when he had been Fitz's age?

  
  


But Kathryn was still smiling at him. “I think we do,” she told him. She sighed then, looking up at the sun. “We should get back, before anyone realizes we have left.” They were both young, so little was likely to be said, but even so, they couldn't really risk it.

  
  


  
  


“You go back first, so no one will think we were alone together,” Fitz said quickly. She was right, after all. He followed her at a distance, to make sure she was all right, but ensured they didn't rejoin the progress together or even at the same spot. It didn't save him from Will Parr's teasing, but it did keep Kathryn out of trouble, which was the important thing.

  
  


They did not dare wander off from the progress again, but that did not stop them from spending as much time together as possible. Kathryn often found herself with the Brandon twins, who were also Fitz's cousins. In the company of Edward and Eleanor, no one questioned the two of them being together. Although he did think Lady Suffolk suspected something, when he saw her watching them and caught her eye, she smiled and winked at him. He thought that meant they had her approval, at least.

  
  


Approval for what, he didn't dare think just yet. They were both too young to order their own lives, even if he was the highest-ranking duke in the country, and he didn't dare hope too hard. Not yet.

  
  


<><><>

  
  


Mary stared out of her litter at her new prison, and tried to tell herself that at least here at Woodstock Palace, she would not have to constantly give way to her baby sister, pretending Elizabeth was the true princess. Except... Elizabeth herself was one of Mary's only comforts; her little sister loved her with a small child's honest affection, and it made Mary's life easier to bear.

  
  


And now, not only had she lost that – and she did not know if Fitz would be allowed to visit – she had lost the illusion that her father would one day relent. She still could not think of his cold words without starting to cry, so she resolved never to do so where someone might hear her. Instead she held her head high and stared at the palace. It was an ancient building, long tied to the history of her Plantagenet forebears. Good things and bad, like so many of the older palaces.

  
  


What did she know of her new jailer, Anthony Knivert, Viscount Rivers? Not much, in truth, though she was aware that he was a distant cousin through the brother of Elizabeth Woodville. She could vaguely remember him as one of the men always with her father – the Duke of Suffolk, her uncle by his marriage to her aunt Margaret, was a clearer memory, but she thought she could just manage to picture Knivert. His wife, Katherine, was far more familiar to her, having been among her attendants at Ludlow.

  
  


It was one more insult to her, being put under the rule of her onetime attendant. Still, Mary was not entirely friendless, and the notes Chapuys managed to slip her had suggested that Lord and Lady Rivers were not truly among the Witch's partisans. They were close to her stepsister, the Duchess of Suffolk, but not to _her_. It would be better, she could hope, than life under Lady Bryan, who was half-sister to Anne Boleyn's father. Even if it was rumored that Lady Rivers in particular was drawn to the Lutheran heresies. They could not dare mistreat her – not even Lady Bryan had done so in terms of physical attacks, because one could never be certain that she would not be restored to favor if the Witch fell. At most they could threaten, and Mary was accustomed to threats and to scorn by now. They would not sway her.

  
  


She reminded herself of this again and again as she was led inside and to her chambers – a comfortable bedchamber and a sitting room, and Mary was surprised to find a small shelf of books there. That must have been Lady Rivers' idea; she recalled Katherine Parr as having a great love of learning and books. There was also a sewing basket and an empty book for sketching with charcoal sticks to draw with, and a lute. Again, Lady Rivers' touch; who else would know the things Mary had once liked to fill her time with? All of these things were quite pleasing to her, except that one of the books, one in pride of place on a small lectern, was an English Bible.

  
  


No matter. One of her few possessions was a Latin Bible, and she had no need for the heretical English version.

  
  


“I trust my wife has left you with enough things to occupy your time, my Lady Mary?” a light male voice spoke from behind her. Mary turned, and her dim memories told her that this was indeed Lord Rivers, Anthony Knivert. He bowed respectfully to her, but she could not let the title stand.

  
  


“I am the Princess of Wales, Viscount Rivers. However, yes, these are pleasing to me, save for that English Bible. I have no need of it.”

  
  


“No, but you will leave it there, my lady.” Mary opened her mouth to object to her title again, but Rivers spoke over her. “You are Lady Mary, the king's natural daughter, by the laws of England. Whatever the theological arguments of a Church to which England does not belong, that is the law as it stands, my lady. I will not break it to pander to your pride, nor will I allow my servants to do so when they tend your needs.”

  
  


“I need no servants who will not address me as is proper,” Mary said flatly, thinking of her mother, who had done the same.

  
  


“Which is why they will not address you. As you will not eat in the hall without a canopy of estate and that you will not have, you are free to eat privately here. Servants will bring you food, water for bathing, wood for your fire, candles for light, perhaps new books from time to time. They will do so at set times without addressing you, and thus avoid either offending you or breaking the law.”

  
  


“Am I to be confined to my rooms then?” Mary said, voice sharp.

  
  


“No. There are gardens you may walk in; every possible route away from this castle is guarded, so you will not have any opportunity to escape. I advise you not to try it. I will not be able to hide it from the King your father, and he is likely to take it as treasonous behavior. The Duke of Richmond may continue to visit you, although he is the only person with standing permission to do so. Others may come if they petition the King and he agrees. You will be allowed to refuse any guest not sent with orders from His Majesty.”

  
  


Mary was quiet as she turned this over in her head. Her father had tried demeaning her and since that had failed, he was now going to try comfortable isolation. Lord Rivers was evidently determined not to allow her any chance to assert her rights. “May I write letters, Lord Rivers?”

  
  


“You may, but I will read them before they are sent, as well as any you receive. And, as the King believes that your mother encourages your intransigence, you will not be permitted to write to her.”

  
  


Of course she wasn't. At this point, Mary could not even pretend to surprise, for all that she wanted to. “Very well. I understand my father's terms,” she said flatly. “I need no further explanation and I do not require company at this time.”

  
  


When he left her alone, as she had directed, Mary went to unpack her meager belongings, fighting back tears again. She would not cry and she would not break. She reminded herself of that for the rest of the day, when servants came twice with food and once with a metal tub for her to bathe, not speaking to her or even looking at her. It was better than Lady Bryan's cruelty, the mocking whispers of Elizabeth's ladies.

  
  


She was her mother's daughter. Silence would not crush her.

  
  


<><><>

  
  


All in all, Anne did not object to the sudden influx of Tudor relations among their court, even on progress when the court was usually reduced. Henry was softer, in the presence of his nieces and his nephew, or in his Owen cousins, who were more distant kin born of Owen Tudor's bastard son – David Owen had been a trusted servant to his half-nephew Henry VII, and Henry had recently found places at court for several of his descendants. One of them, Jasper Owen, was now in Anne's household as her carver, while two more were among Henry's household.

  
  


It did give her some pause that Cromwell had involved himself in bringing the Owens to court, but when she mentioned it to Edward, he shrugged. “Michael said that the king was growing discomfited with how large your family is in comparison with his own, between your mother's kin and us. He thinks that Cromwell was merely heading off a potential problem – and the Owens aren't Tudor in any dangerous way.”

  
  


Jasper was certainly pleasant enough as a member of her household, and as Jane has commented, anything that sweetened Henry's moods could not be a bad thing. And, Anne reminded herself when she saw Henry with his bastard son and his nephew, enjoying a hunt together, while the boys might well remind Henry of the legitimate prince he lacked, at least when he was with them he was not with a mistress.

  
  


And, if he remembered he needed an heir above all, then he would seek his pleasure in her bed. So she resolved to be a warm aunt to the Brandon siblings and to Frances Douglas, and a courteous if not overly familiar kinswoman by marriage to the Owens. She already tried her best with Fitzroy, for all that the sight of him reminded her of her own lack of sons, and so she feared him. But she always knew she could not shame the memory of Margery Seymour, and Henry preferred that she was kind to the boy. It was not his fault, she reminded herself often. And the gossip was that Bessie Blount's husband had been as cruel to the child as he could get away with. She could and would be better than that. He was sweet to Elizabeth, and that counted for much. Of course, he was also very fond of Mary...

  
  


Henry wanted her to be kind to Mary as well, should the girl ever submit. That, Anne knew, would be harder. But then, she doubted that even a cowed Mary would want much to do with her, would likely always believe Henry never would have discarded Katherine if Anne had not come along. So if it came to it they would likely not interact often. And civility would be a small enough price to pay to keep Henry in a good mood.

  
  


In any case, she had more pleasant things to think about. The progress was going well. The hunting had been excellent, and the consecration of three bishops – Edward Fox, Hugh Latimer, and John Hilsey – at Winchester was a personal triumph for Anne, who was a patron to all three of the men.

  
  


Best of all, they had been well received by the locals everywhere they went. Despite her siblings' efforts, there were many among the common people who still preferred Katherine to her, particularly in the countryside. But here there were no cries of anger, and the calls of greeting to both king and queen were excited.

  
  


And now they were at Wolf Hall. Anne could hardly contain her curiosity. All three of her siblings had been married at court, her stepmother buried at Hever, and so she had never before had reason to come to the Seymour manor, owned by Edward, where her siblings had been raised before their father had died. Jane showed her the tree where, she said, Edward had taught her to read, their father having not bothered to allow her to begin lessons with the tutor who worked with his sons. “I think he did it to get better at it himself,” Jane said thoughtfully, fingers skimming lightly over the bark of the old oak's trunk. “I never asked him, but that would be his way.”

  
  


“It certainly would.” It was why Edward had worked with their brothers when they were learning to fight, and even taught the girls how one would properly hold a sword, how one used a bow. Women could be archers for hunts, so he'd been freer with that than he had with swords. The memory made Anne laugh as she didn't think she had in a long time, and Jane, guessing her thoughts as she so often did, giggled with her.

  
  


“What are you two laughing together about? Sneaking off from Anne's ladies?” Of course it was Edward, which only made them both laugh all the more. Anne turned and hugged him, kissing his cheek.

  
  


“Oh, it's nothing, Ned. Just... I'm not worried, for the first time in a long time, and I think it's making me giddy.” She realized as she said it that it was true. Her concerns still held, of course, but in this moment, in her siblings' childhood home, she couldn't be so very worried about anything. She wanted to believe things would be better now.

  
  


She had not even felt the need for Cat's draft, which remained wrapped up at the very bottom of one of her chests. First, it had proved too hard to slip it into her wine without being noticed, and then she had just... not done so. But it remained with her, a comforting thought. A way Anne could feel that she was more in control, somehow. If her body did not oblige her, then she had the means to _force_ its cooperation.

  
  


And Henry was back in her bed.

  
  


It was as if something had fallen away, some barrier that had kept them apart. She didn't know if it was the progress, being free of London's tensions and responsibilities, if it was the success of the summit, or Henry's satisfaction in having kinfolk close who were no threat to him, but they were better now. He was showing her more kindness, and Anne gritted her teeth against her temper, trying to learn the control of a Queen.

  
  


Even when she saw him singling out Catherine Willoughby to dance, Anne was able to smile through it. The girl's mother was a partisan of Katherine's, and it did make her nervous, but Henry knew who Maria de Salinas was. It would make it impossible for her daughter to be subtle, even if the mother did push the chit into Henry's bed for the sake of her former mistress. Better someone whose loyalties were so known as to make them ineffective than someone who could hide their true goals.

  
  


She still wanted to rip the girl's hair out, but she was Queen. She was better than that, and Henry was in her bed at night, no matter who he flirted with in the day, or even who he might sneak off with. He came back to her, and so she would be able to give him a son soon.

  
  


When she did, she would be untouchable.

  
  


<><><>

  
  


She rode dressed as a man, alone in a hooded cloak. A woman of advancing years, Maria de Salinas would not have undertaken such a journey for anything less than her Infanta's sake. And to her, the Queen was and always would be Infanta Catalina, even if that was a title she herself would no longer had responded to. Maria could remember their years in the Alhambra together, their years of privation after Arthur died, the happy times of the early years of Katherine's marriage to Henry VIII.

  
  


Her Infanta was dying, and Maria would be with her, the King be damned!

  
  


Elizabeth Darrell let her in with a tremulous smile, and Maria squeezed the girl's shoulder in comfort. She was loyal, Maria knew, and had done her best for her mistress in increasingly thankless circumstances. “She was calling for Princess Mary earlier,” Elizabeth said quietly. “I think she saw her, her fever is high enough to make her see things.”

  
  


“Damn that heretic monster, he will not let her come, will he?” Maria asked grimly.

  
  


“No. They say she has been taken from the Lady Elizabeth's household and shut up somewhere with the King's friend Knivert and his wife, until she submits to him.”

  
  


“You would think Maud Parr's daughter would have the human decency to allow Mary to see her dying mother – but then, she would likely find herself in the Tower if she did,” Maria said, forcing herself to be honest. She was certain that Mary's new keepers could not enjoy their task, but she recalled Knivert a little, and she knew Maud Parr if not her daughters. They would be the sort to do their duty by following their King's commands, even if they found them repugnant. She could hope, at least, that they would be kind to Mary. She could do nothing for the princess now, but for her Infanta...

  
  


“Catalina? Catalina, it's me, Maria,” she said, settling on the stool by the bed. She got no response for long moments, and took her oldest friend's hand in hers. She could remember holding hands as they raced through the gardens of the Alhambra, Infanta Juana and her Moorish maidservant Soraya following at a calmer pace. Infanta Juana had been the younger girls' favorite, the one most likely to indulge childish play, filled with a sense of mischief. Her fate was one more tragedy that Maria tried not to dwell on.

  
  


“Do you remember the swifts?” she whispered in Spanish. “How we would laugh to see them fly from the bushes as we ran about?”

  
  


“Or when Juana took us to see the bats,” came a faint, thready voice. Maria looked up to see Catalina's eyes half-open, a slight nostalgic smile on her face. “We were so frightened at first...”

  
  


“Until we realized they were soft and small, and would be more scared of us if we moved than we could ever be of them, yes.”

  
  


“I miss the gardens, Maria. I wanted to bring Mary to them, I wanted her to marry Charles and see them...”

  
  


“I know, my Infanta, I know. But Mary will be Queen one day, you know she will. No one can defy the Pope forever.”

  
  


“Mary... where is she, she was here... I wanted her to see you, I want her and your Catherine to be such good friends...”

  
  


Maria's throat tightened. She could not bear to tell Catalina that she had been hallucinating, that her daughter was far away, locked up as she was. That if King Henry had his way, Mary would be shut away until she too caught ill and died. “She could not stay, I'm so sorry,” she told Catalina instead, deciding on a kind lie. “The King allowed her to come but he fears allowing her to stay.”

  
  


“Oh... But he permitted me to see her. He is softening, Maria. Perhaps... with me gone... He will have the right to marry now, he can put the harlot away without harming his pride... He will be kinder to Mary then. Will you... watch over her, as you can, Maria? Chapuys will, he will help...”

  
  


“Of course, my Infanta, my Catalina.”

  
  


Catalina smiled. “We will wait, Arthur and I, we will wait in the garden, for you, for Mary...” Her voice faded, breath rattling in her chest before going silent, her eyes fixed and unseeing. Choking on her sobs, Maria reached up and closed her Infanta's eyes.

  
  


She would watch over Mary. With Katherine dead, the monster could remarry for true now, a good woman who would bring him back to the Church and remind him who his trueborn daughter was. She knew what to do. Her daughter had written her to say that the King had begun to single her out to dance with. While Maria hated the thought of her Cathy in that man's bed, it was the only way to keep her promise.

  
  


Her Cathy would be Queen, and they would restore Mary. It was the only way.

  
  


 


End file.
